


an old-fashioned notion

by callmearcturus



Series: The Hunters Initiative [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Avengers fusion, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There was an idea called the Hunters Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable individuals... See if they could become something more."</p><p>"We're not a team, we're a goddamn clusterfuck."</p><p>(Avengers fusion fic (NOW COMPLETE))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue : unconventional career milestones

**Author's Note:**

> I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm really not. Thanks to Cass for helping with the casting and making this fic possible.
> 
> This will have two prologues to establish the universe, then seven chapters of story. Bonus materials and casting can be found [here](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/tagged/the-hunters-initiative).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> revised: 21 Nov 2013

The god of rage and lightning meets the man of iron in Seattle when a megalomaniac gets ahold of a weather machine and tries to destroy the Pacific Northwest.

That makes the affair sound very impressive, but the story goes like this: Mogar (later Michael), a displaced godling with anger management issues that could take out a moderately sized landmass, gets overzealous with one of his gigs and nearly kills Geoffrey Lazer Ramsey, co-CEO of Ramsey Enterprises and operator of the Iron Man Mk III mechanical prosthesis. Fancy words for a tin can with man stuck inside.

It just so happens that when a rich evil genius with far too much time on his hands decides to hold the entire state of Washington hostage with his new weather-controlling technology, Michael is not the first person on the scene. Michael flies up to Space Needle, where the device is helpfully situated in the open air, and winds up his hammer. The motion draws down the lightning from the storm clouds about him, and he shapes the crackling power into sharp arcs that trail the metal of the hammer he pinwheels, slowly then with gaining momentum.

If there is one thing that Michael has learned since his exile on Earth it’s that lightning can destroy pretty much any device on the planet.

Thus he lets the lightning go so it leaps from his grasp and crashes into the machine, sending it up in a shower of sparks and fire. Just as he expected.

What he didn’t expect was that someone would get in the way. He only sees the sharp plummet of the body after the device is taken out, the shape of a figure lighting up with the machine’s explosive death knell. Michael dives after and catches the body before he sees it’s not made of flesh but metal, shining blue and silver. Around the head and the circular emblem on the chest are green lights that flicker wildly only to completely go out the moment Michael gets a hold of the body. That doesn’t surprise him much; he tends to have that effect on earth’s technology.

Michael holds the metal body securely and slows their fall gradually until he pulls up, flying upward and to the closest landing point he can spot. Gravel crunches under his feet as he touches down on a nearby roof garden, and its there he sets what he supposes is a robot down.

Before he can investigate what he’s found, the things faceplate pops free and Michael finds himself looking into the sleepy eyes of a dark-haired man. “So,” he starts with a low drawl, voice lazy despite the sharp evaluating gaze that he’s tracing over Michael. “What are you supposed to be?”

Michael takes in the strange dissonance between the gleaming metal and the vulnerable face. “I could ask you the same.”

“You could, but I beat you to it, so.”

Michael’s lips twitch. “Mogar. I was in the neighborhood, thought I could help with Seattle’s weather problem.”

“Geoff. I was in the neighborhood and thought I could help with Seattle’s weather problem. And then my suit shut off while I was some 600 feet in the air.” His eyebrow arches up, almost vanishing under the metal framing his face. “Know anything about that?”

Michael does, and demonstrates: holding up his hand for Geoff to see, he slowly separates his fingers, and between each one archs a shivering lace of static and light. “I might.”

“Oh. Huh, that’s pretty cool.” He looks impressed for a moment. Then, he just looks odd; Geoff’s face goes taut, the muscles in his face flexing and cheeks puffing as he lets out hard breaths.

Frowning, Michael asks, “What are you doing?”

“I’m, uh.” He keeps it up for a moment until a sweat breaks over his brow. “Fucking-- okay, so here’s the thing. You sort of killed my suit. And I can’t get it restarted.”

“Okay,” Michael says slowly, waiting for the point.

“This thing ain’t light. Without the servos and motors going, I can’t move. So, you can fly, right?”

Of course. Michael sighs, remembering that no good deed goes unpunished and wishing he’d just dropped off this guy and left before curiosity got the better of him. No point complaining about it now though. “Sure. Where are we going?”

Seattle and Austin aren’t exactly close neighbors, but for Michael it’s not a long flight, especially after Geoff assures him the suit can compensate for the stresses of high speeds. It’s still a longer journey than can be filled with small talk, and neither of them seem interested in sharing much more than that. So he flies mostly in silence, pretending the roar of the wind is louder enough to block out the voice of the man he has slung across his back.

Geoff directs him to a little ranch house just outside of city limits. Specifically, he flies to a wide circular platform that’s set into the land. It’s a flat plane of tarmac that looks pretty insignificant, but Geoff assures him it’s a better destination than the front door or garage.

As soon as Michael’s feet settle on the surface, it shifts around him. His instinct is to ignore it, to float in the air as it sinks down, but that’s probably besides the point so he lets gravity keep its hold of him.

The platform passes for a while through the ground before the concrete walls suddenly open up to a wide room. It’s glass and stainless steel and rows of servers and enough delicate-looking equipment that Michael sucks in a breath, trying to focus on not frying anything.

“Geoffrey!” The shout comes from behind him and Michael turns even as Geoff yells back, “I’m fine! Stand down, lad, I’m okay!”

Before the platform settles into the ground, a young man in a lab coat vaults up onto it. He’s tall and lanky in a way Michael associates with teenagers, but he’s looks to be in his twenties with a lazy scruff on his face and eyes like sea glass. He’s also barefoot. Michael finds that a little distracting, noticing it before the accent.

“Really? Because the last I knew the arc reactor had a critical power failure while you were 180 meters in the air!”

“Yeah, and yet I’m not a smear on the pavement right now, so calm the fuck down and get the unlock tools before Griffon gets home,” Geoff snaps.

The man in the lab coat reaches Geoff and lifts the helmet with both hands so he can look into Geoff’s eyes. “She’s on her way,” he says, sounding distracted as his fingers trace the seams of the interwoven metal.

“Shit, we’re in trouble.”

“Well, you dropped off every feed I had, I couldn’t not bloody call her!” It’s only then that he looks to Michael, apparently just noticing the suit is being held up by a person and not a coat rack. “Who are you then?”

Michael opens his mouth and trips over his own tongue. “Uh.”

“He’s the guy who shot me out of the air. Totally on accident. Sparky, wanna put me down on that work bench?”

“This guy? He almost killed you!”

“I didn’t see him,” Michael says defensively, moving to lay Geoff onto the nearest clear table. “And hey, I caught him before he got to pavement-smear point, right?”

The look he gets for that is arctic. The man looks about ready to lay into Michael, eyes narrow and darkening, but Geoff says, “No, Gavin, it’s fine, take your time, I haven’t been in this suit for eight hours or anything.”

Gavin finally breaks eye contact with Michael and scurries away, fast enough that his coat flaps up. “Unlock tools. Right.”

“Thank you,” Geoff says emphatically. “Hey, thunderhead, you drink beer?”

Michael startles, feeling oddly unbalanced in this situation, outside his depths for… no immediately obvious reason. It takes him an extra second to turn away from Gavin and to Geoff. “Beer? Yeah, sure.”

“Up the stairs to the top floor, then down the hall. Check the fridge. Bring me one too-- I’m gonna be here a while.”

He lingers for a moment, watching as Gavin balances on the table on his knees, a wrench-like tool in his hand that he begins to fit into the metal suit. The suit whirs tiredly and a plane of metal that seemed like a continuous, perfect piece splits into two. It’s only when Gavin looks up and finds himself being watched that Michael stops staring and goes in search of beer.

The path is straightforward. Along the staircase, the concrete and metal gives way to rustic wooden floors and green walls. The transition is abrupt, but he’s suddenly in what is unmistakably a home, with wide open spaces, eclectic decorations, and plenty of windows. It’s an entire world away from the work area he left, to such a stark degree that Michael looks back to make sure the stairs are still there.

They are, so he makes his way to the kitchen and into the fridge. It’s full, but there’s an entire collection of beer on the inside of the door. Microbrews, bottles of liquor, and even some Stella. Whoever these people are, he can’t help liking them; they have an appreciation of alcohol that Michael has to respect.

He hears the sound of a shotgun being pumped and slowly puts his hands up, stepping away. He’s not worried about being hurt, having yet to met an Earth firearm that does more than lightly inconvenience him. But if someone shot at him, they’d probably destroy the beer.

“What are you doing in my house? And where’s Gavin?”

When he dares to look, he sees a woman with more skin covered in tattoos than not, a blonde ponytail, and a terrifyingly cold look in her eyes that Michael recognizes from having seen it on Gavin’s face. She holds a shotgun like it’s an extension of her rather than a tool, and that more than anything makes her formidable to him.

He doesn’t try to bullshit, giving her just the facts. “Geoff asked me to grab beer. Gavin is downstairs helping him out of the suit thing. I think he’s stuck in it?”

Instantly, she lowers the barrel. “Jesus Christ, Geoff,” she says, pained. “Look... grab the beers, then we’re going down there and if you’re lying, I’m blowing your head off. And this is Texas, so I can do that, no problem.”

Michael nods and grabs two beers at random before leading her downstairs.

By the time they get there, Geoff has begun to appear out of the pieces of the suit. His arms are free along with half of his chest, and Michael notes with interest that they’re just as painted as the woman’s and wonders if Gavin has a similar set under his coat sleeves. Gavin is working at his waist, face set with concentration.

Geoff spots them and waves. “Hey! Beer, awesome. Hi, honey, how was work?”

Griffon shoves past Michael, instantly dismissing him, and sets her shotgun down on top of a tool box as she strides over. “You ran a test without telling me?”

“Ah, well... practical field test, you know. Had to wait for a supervillain to pop up, then get out there. Ow, fuck!” Geoff attempts to lurch away when Griffon punches him in the arm. “That hurts!”

“It’s meant to. Gavin?”

Gavin carefully doesn’t look up. “I’m not getting involved. I’m just--”

Griffon cuts him off with a finger under his chin, lifting his face to meet her eyes. His dart away, then return, and Michael’s again reminded of a teenager. “You’re in just as much trouble, considering you let him do it.”

Gavin tries to look away, hunching over his work as much as possible. It’s clear he’s intimidated by Griffon, and Michael doesn’t blame him. “I’m still technically your employee. He gave me a task--”

“Shut up,” she says.

He winces and nods. “Yes, Griffon. Sorry.”

Michael could use this moment to leave. The platform’s gone, but he could easily make his way to the actual door and fly off before anyone was the wiser. Michael considers it as he watches Gavin unhook another gleaming curve of metal with careful fingers, pulling it away.

Before Michael can do anything, Geoff clicks his fingers, snapping him out of his reverie and bringing everyone’s attention back to their impromptu guest. So much for leaving without fuss. “Beer, come on.”

Michael hesitantly meanders over to hand one of the beers over. Gavin watches him suspiciously, like he’s about to leap at Geoff’s throat, which... isn’t entirely unfounded, Michael supposes.

“So who are you again?” Gavin asks, voice lemon sour as he liberates the pelvic plate of the armor and sets it on the table.

“Michael,” he answers without thinking about it, hypnotized by the sight of the careful work.

“Michael? You told me Mogar,” Geoff points out.

“Mogar’s a pen name then?” Gavin asks quietly with a sardonic twist to his words that Michael privately likes.

“Stage name, actually,” Michael shoots back easily, and grins at the surprised blink he startles out of Gavin. That expression alone was already worth sticking around for.

“Okay, whatever,” Geoff says loudly, sensing he’s not being paid attention. “Michael or Mogar or whatever. This is my wife, Griffon Ramsey. I’m Geoff, as you know. This is... our adopted European twink, Gavin Ramsey-Free.”

Gavin sticks his tongue out at his introduction before returning to his unlocking.

“So,” Griffon says, her appropriately talon-sharp gaze settling back on Michael. “Are you staying for dinner?”

There’s an indignant squawk from Gavin. “What? Wha-- he almost killed Geoff!”

“I’m pretty sure Geoff almost killed Geoff when he fucked off in a prototype full-body prosthesis,” she replies tartly. Despite the fire in her words, the smile she gives Michael is kind. “What do you say to pork tenderloin?”

Michael looks between the three of them, taking in the mix of curiosity and hostility aimed at him, and decides pork tenderloin sounds pretty excellent, actually.


	2. Prologue: bulletpoints for your future past

When Ryan Haywood wakes up, he has a lot of reading to do.

BYTE settles him into a house in Corpus Christi, probably their attempt to make him feel at home. He would appreciate it if it wasn’t so misguided-- he hasn’t seen Corpus Christi for ages, and it’s different than he remembers from before the war.

That’s why there are stacks and stacks of files laid over the surface of the coffee table. At the start, they tried to hand him a piece of glass that could call up the words, like a computer that fit in his hand, but he broke that with his third _episode_. So old-fashioned paper and manilla folders it is.

He reads through about twenty summaries of the past few decades, each focusing on a different aspect of life: domestic history, international history, technology, popular culture, government, business-- all of it laid out in staid Courier font.

Then there are the files they don’t print out. Agent Tuggey hands him another glass-computer device with a shade of trepidation and explains, “None of these are cleared for physical copy, so try not to break the reader this time.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She remains in the room while he reads, her fingers working at her phone (which Ryan has learned is an archaic, mostly legacy term for the devices most people in America carry with them, hardly ever used for actual phone calls).

On the reader, Ryan learns about a few things.

The first is that more and more a being called Narvaroth has been spreading panic and chaos across the globe. There are blurry images, each with an asterisk attached that leads to a tooltip about how all attempts to capture Narvaroth on film have inexplicably failed. What Ryan can make out is a tall figure, possibly with dark hair, garbed in green. It’s not much to go on, but the being’s resume is horrifically impressive with targets that vary from public parks to military installations.

A timeline is laid out, each bulletpoint he touches unfolding into detail reports with injury and casualty counts. The early ones are extreme, but they taper off as things become more recent and the names _Mogar_ and _Ramsey_ start cropping up. Apparently Narvaroth’s plots are being spoiled, just barely. Thank god.

The names come up in the next report as well; it’s a breakdown of prospective addition to BYTE’s Hunters Initiative. Mogar is at the top of the list, a volatile alien with a predilection for destroying anything in his path with lightning and sheer rage. To Ryan, he looks like a kid, his face young and splashed liberally with freckles, a knit cap squashing auburn curls. His eyes are interesting enough that Ryan fights with the reader to zoom in on them, the bright gem-like amber irises the only thing that make Mogar look alien.

BYTE notes at the end of the brief that all attempts to forge an alliance with Mogar have been rebuffed, and only field agents with over four years of experience with the Hunters Initiative are to approach him. And then there are medical reports of the agents who didn’t heed that advice, a blatant cautionary tale.

It’s hard for Ryan to mentally link the images of scorched building and lightning storms with the boy in the pictures, but the appearances are obviously deceiving.

Well, they must be, if the next photo to roll up the screen is any indication. It looks like a family photo to Ryan, a shade of candidness and earnestness to the unprofessional angle and lighting that makes it more intimate. A scruffy man with his arms around a blonde pixish woman and a teenage boy, all three of them smiling warmly on a porch swing.

The image directly below is a flying suit of armor that looks like something out of a fantasy movie. Ryan’s thumb brushes over the image and it leaps to life, a short video of the armor flying through the air, so fast the camera jitters and shakes as it tries to keep up.

 _Project Iron Man, created and operated by Ramsey Enterprises_ , the report says, and Ryan skims through the reading: a moderately successful contractor and its masterpiece, the technology that propelled them into fame and fortune, the fierce legal battles with the government over the intellectual property. In between the lines is the story of a small family being thrust into the limelight and how they survived.

Ryan likes them already, maybe even more for the bit at the end: _Despite repeated attempts at establishing contact with the Ramseys, no meeting has been successfully scheduled. It’s not recommended that agents circumvent the secretarial staff (see Agent Hullum’s arrest report for details)._

“Something funny?” Tuggey asks, and Ryan realizes he’s been smiling as he takes in the files.

“What happened with Hullum and the Ramseys?” he asks, because Tuggey’s proven herself to be honest with him since she’s been assigned to him.

Tuggey’s lips curve upward. “Let’s just say the Austin PD is very fond of its resident superhero family.”

“So what I’m getting,” Ryan ventures slowly, holding up the reader. “Is that BYTE has a long wishlist but no one on this actual team.”

Tuggey crosses her arms, fingers tapping lightly. “We’ve already made contact with Dr. Pattillo, the next one on the list. He’s a little more receptive, and our people think he can help us with the Ramseys. The other ones are still going through background checks and other bullshit.” Her phone beeps, and in an instant her thumbs are tapping rapidly at the screen again.

“Is something going on?”

“Maybe.” Her eyes dart up to meet Ryan’s. “I may have to leave for a while.”

Ryan lifts his eyebrows, leaning back against the sofa with his arms stretched across the back. Such is his wingspan (so to speak) that his hands curve over the edge on both sides. He’s almost used to that, the largeness of himself and how he inhabits space since the operation. “That’s unusual. Must be something big to call you away.”

“You could say that.” Her eyes are hard on his, and he’s not met many people who weren’t at least a little intimidated by his very presence. He appreciates that. “You wanna hitch a ride? Maybe meet one of those names?”

“Which one?” He can’t keep the eager tone out of his voice; the prospect of seeing something more interesting than the inside of this house is enticing alone, but meeting a potential member of the Hunters Initiative just sweetens the deal.

“Put on some shoes,” she says in lieu of an actual reply. “The helicopter will be here in five.”

It’s there in three, and soon Ryan and Tuggey are flying east, out over ocean. It’s nothing but a wide expanse of blue under them for a long time. Then, they’re going down and Ryan cranes his neck to see the tiny red metal structure jutting out of the water. It looks like a warehouse stranded in the middle of nothing, set into a scrap of land. Their helicopter is one of many that circle the tiny island a few times before landing. There’s just enough of a landing pad for one at a time, and the moment Ryan and Tuggey step off, their chopper’s gone again, making room for the next.

For a little, unassuming-though-incongruous warehouse on the middle of a tiny island, the door looks like it’s better suited for the kind of government facility that turned Ryan into what he is now; Tuggey swipes a card, presses her hand to a blue panel, and identifies herself and Ryan in a clear, measured voice. It’s only then they’re allowed in.

“Nice security system,” Ryan remarks as they walk down the grey hallways.

“Only the best for our guest. Seaside views, constant video and audio surveillance. Probably some very fine coffee too.”

“I’m sure.”

He’s shown to an observation area overlooking an interrogation room. They’re not alone; Commander Sorola is there, looking as surly and just-barely-pre-migraine as Ryan’s ever seen him.

He looks up at him, then down at Agent Tuggey. “Fucking really?”

“Yes, sir,” she says fearlessly, staring back.

Sorola sighs. “Captain, while I admire that you’re gung-ho to get back in action, this is a delicate operation.”

Ryan nods to the room, currently empty. “Who’ve you got?”

The glare Sorola shoots Tuggey is like acid; she must be used to it, as she does nothing. “Potentially our greatest asset for the Hunters Initiative.” His phone beeps and he looks at it, nods, then turns to face the observation room.

“Mogar?” Ryan guesses.

“No.” Sorola gives him a calmer, appraising look. “You’ve read the files?”

“Working my way through them.”

“How far did you get?”

“Agent Hullum’s arrest record citation.”

“Ah. Yeah, that’s a thing we don’t like to talk about,” Sorola says. Ryan glances at Tuggey, who’s smirking slightly. She apparently likes to talk about it. “This is the third person on the list. Well, subsection A of item two.”

Before Ryan can ask anything further, the door on the other side of the mirrored glass bangs open and two agents carry in a young man, who’s putting up one hell of a fight. He’s making distinctly bird-like squawking sounds as he bucks and kicks, and crows in delight when he catches one of his captors in the face with his foot. He’s almost dropped and tries to scramble away, but the other agent just shoves him, sending him stumbling into the far wall. They leave the room just as quickly as they came.

“Okay. Okay, look, I’m not meaning to tell you your business, but you guys are _fucked_ if you don’t let me go. Really, it’s for your own good!” shouts the young man that Ryan recognizes as an older incarnation of the Gavin Ramsey-Free he saw on the reader. His face has filled out around his nose, and he looks better-fed. He looks hopelessly out of place with sandals, jeans, and a tee that says _Feel The Thunder._

As Ryan watches, Ramsey-Free winces and rubs his collarbone. Squinting, Ryan sees there’s a necklace there, but under that is bandage taped to his skin.

Ryan looks to Sorola. “You abducted him. And he was injured?”

Sorola shakes his head. “He’s fine. He’s Ramsey Enterprises’ greatest asset besides its CEOs. He’s got the best personal security in the world.” His lips press together unhappily. “That included a subcutaneous locator.”

“Past tense,” Ryan notes.

“He was given a local when we removed it. He’ll be sore.”

Ramsey-Free already looks sore to Ryan, pacing his room like an angry cat. His wary eyes dart between the door and the one-sided mirror as he keeps rubbing at his bandage.

“Who’re you sending in?” Tuggey asks.

“Hullum,” Sorola responds.

“What? Gus, isn’t the point to get his cooperation?”

“Hullum will keep it together.”

“They have a _restraining order_ against him. Send me in.”

Sorola looks askance at her from his phone. “I’m not exactly thrilled with you right now, Agent Tuggey.”

“Yeah, but we both know I’m the better shot for this.”

That ends up being true, apparently, as Sorola relents and gives her the go-ahead. She leaves them, a second later is letting herself into the room, a stack of files under her arm and her suit suddenly impeccable.

Ramsey-Free looks at her like she’s holding a rifle instead of just papers. She gestures to the table and chairs set up. “Doctor. Care to sit?”

He bristles. “Oh, _here_ we go again,” he mutters, but takes one of the chairs. “So who is it this time?”

“I’m sorry?” Tuggey prompts as she sits across from him.

“If you’re going to act stupid for this, we’re already done talking.”

“Doctor--”

Ramsey-Free scoffs loudly. “Not even a little. BYTE, then?”

“I am Agent Tuggey of BYTE--”

“Tuggey?” For the first time, he shows something other than anger, a smile peeking onto his face.

“Don’t bother, I’ve heard them all,” she informs him. “So you’re a hard man to get ahold of.”

He smiles. “I have an early curfew. Speaking of, you should _really_ let me make a phone call to Geoff and Griffon.”

Tuggey nodded and flipped open the files she’d laid down, beginning to pull out photos and slide them across the table in front of him. “Let’s go down the list. We have here a lab analysis of the light and radiant emissions from the generator of the Iron Man suit and a comparison to the supposedly scrapped Arc Reactor technology.”

Ramsey-Free’s eyes go cold. “I can’t say anything about that.”

She slides another photo over, this one of what looked to Ryan like a glass keyboard, but all of the keys were covered in gibberish symbols. “We’ve secured some information on the components located in your design lab, but haven’t been able to figure out some of the basic input devices.”

“No, seriously. We have an entire law firm handling our intellectual property shit. I’m pretty sure I can’t tell you what _paint_ we use without having you sign a thirty page non-competition contract.”

Tuggey’s cool expression fractured. “You post videos of the lab on YouTube.”

Ramsey-Free rolled his eyes. “Look, if you got a lab like that for your birthday, you’d want to show it off too!”

She inhales slowly, flicking out another picture. “Your family is acquainted with Dr. Pattillo. How far back do he and Mr. Ramsey go?”

He says nothing, just glaring across the table.

One more picture. It’s a blurry shot of two people walking down a street. “And we’ve had multiple reports that you’ve been around Downtown Austin with this man, codenamed Mogar.”

Ramsey-Free’s face shuts down entirely, giving nothing away. His hand, though, twitches up, towards the necklace around his neck.

Tuggey leans forward. “Give me the story behind one of these and I’ll see what I can do about that phone call. Give me an olive branch to take back to my boss.”

Ramsey-Free’s mouth twists as he fights to keep his face blank and fails. Ryan can see he’s plainly not built for this. He’s a stubborn thing, but Ryan has seen his type before and knows BYTE has ways to handle his type. None are pretty.

“Olive branch, that’s... that’s fucking mental. I was going to a _goddamn float trip_ with my friend and the next thing I know I’m being chloroformed. Have you ever been chloroformed, Agent Tuggey? Because it gives you a bloody _massive_ headache. And then you arseholes jammed a fucking needle in my chest--”

Tuggey puts her hands up in a quelling gesture. “BYTE had been trying to establish a relationship with Ramsey Enterprises for months now--”

“And we told you to fuck off, and you think _kidnapping me_ is going to make a difference?” In a fit of pique, he shoves all the papers off the table and onto the floor. “I am not giving you fucking anything, and either you need to let me call Geoff or I am going to watch and laugh as he tears your little outpost to tiny singed pieces.”

Tuggey stands, leaning over the table towards him. “And how exactly are they going to find you when we’ve sent your locator to the Keys?”

He subsides, crossing his arms and glaring at her. He looks much like a spoiled child, certain of the protection of his parents. Ryan can see this isn’t going to work, and he’s not sure he wants to see BYTE’s more extreme methods.

So Ryan says to Sorola, “Get her out of there. Let me talk to him.”

Sorola stares. “What?”

“She’s not going to get anything out of him. You guys are going about this wrong. You need the carrot, not the stick,” Ryan explains. “He’s like a cat. Give him someone to play with, to feel superior to, and he’ll talk.”

“And you think you can pull that off?”

Ryan shrugs. “Come on, Commander. Why am I here if you’re not going to use me?”

He gets the impression that Sorola is running the angles in his head, making a thousand calculations in the span of a minute. He gets that feeling from Sorola a lot. “Fine.” He taps at his phone. “I’m pulling Tuggey out. Get in there.”

Tuggey looks more than happy to be out of the room. Ryan passes her in the hallway and she gives him a conspiratorial eyeroll that makes him smile. He gets her frustration, no doubt there. Hopefully he can do better.

Ryan lets himself into the room and the reaction is immediate. “Oooh! Ouh!” Ramsey-Free points at him, practically bouncing in his chair. “I-- but you’re--! Bloody hell!”

He smiles. “You know me?”

“Know you? Look, before all of this bollocks, I was seventy hours into a marketing degree. I had to do an entire presentation on you! Over, yanno, the use of propaganda during wartime. Not that... erm.” He looks sheepish. “Not that you’re... I mean, more the Captain America _image_ , for war bonds and stuff. Not that war bonds are bad! Just...” He gestures vaguely, and Ryan’s silently thrilled to have thrown him off so much. He even starts to fidget, playing with the necklace around his neck.

“It’s fine. I was happy to help my country however I could,” Ryan demurs, sitting down. “So do you prefer Mr. Ramsey-Free or Gavin?”

That makes the young man’s face light up in a grin. He’s got an infectious smile, Ryan has to admit. “I think you can call me Gavin, Captain.”

“All right then, Gavin,” Ryan says mildly and watches Gavin try not to whoop with glee.

“I cannot believe-- I mean, there were rumors about BYTE finding you, but wow. I mean, Jack said defrosting you would never work, but Jack’s a pessimist. What’s it like being frozen?”

Ryan lifts an eyebrow. “Cold.”

“Ha, haha.” He fiddles more with his necklace. “So, you seem more friendly than Agent Tuggey. You new to this? Or is it true that people were just more polite back in the day?”

“I believe the term they’re using with me is that I am re-acclimating.”

“Is that different from just acclimating? Hey, so where are we, actually? I was out for the trip.”

Ryan sees no harm in telling him, and knows it could encourage him to keep talking if he plays his cards right. “Somewhere in the Atlantic, off the Carolinas, I think.”

He nods slowly and his face is so damn transparent, Ryan can see something going on. “So have they caught you up on all the goodies? Got your Netflix and your electric car yet?”

Ryan leans back in his chair, relaxing, and watches with interest as Gavin does the opposite, getting tense. Maybe Gavin is not as oblivious as he plays, because his eyes keep darting to Ryan’s arms, namely his large biceps, and he starts to seem nervous. “Why are you stalling, Gavin?”

“Am I?” His voice has just jumped a few octaves, so Ryan’s going to go with _yes_ there. “Oh. Erm.” He taps his collarbone lightly, where the bandage is. “The thing is that BYTE’s good. They got rid of my watch and the locator in here, but...” His thumb hooks the chain of his necklace, holding it up, and Ryan can see it clearly from here; it’s a chunk of jagged prism that seems to be glowing in pulsing waves. Each one is faster than the last. “Missed one, didn’t you?”

It’s then that alarms start blaring, from silent to deafening in a second’s time. Ryan turns to the window, sending a questioning look at his own reflection. The speaker underneath clicks on. “Proximity alarm, two unknown entities. Stay with the kid,” Tuggey says, and then she’s gone again.

Gavin gets to his feet and stretches. “Well, it was nice to meet you. Like, a real honor.”

In the distance, Ryan can hear a crashing noise. “Your _necklace_ was a tracker?”

He shrugs, looking apologetic. “Listen, I designed the most advanced battle system in the world. Of course we have back-ups to our back-ups.”

There’s a boiling rumble of thunder that feels so close, like a beast’s growl, it makes the hair on Ryan’s arms stand up. Or maybe that’s the sudden feeling of static build-up in the air. Shit. He’s already out of time to work on this kid. He goes straight for his last shot, leaning in to stare into Gavin’s eyes imploringly. “Listen, I get it. BYTE’s not exactly my top pick for shadow government organization either, but they’re what we got right now and from all the reports I’ve read, they think something big is coming. Something we can use your help on.”

Gavin tips his head to the side, like a bird, listening. “I can’t very well be buddies with a group that interrupts my first vacation weekend in over a year.”

That’s a petty way of putting it, but Ryan bites his tongue to not snap at the civilian who doesn’t get it, who has never had to read the sort of files Ryan has, who probably has no concept of real and present danger. “This isn’t about being friends, it’s about the greater good. If this Hunters Initiative falls apart because your family won’t give BYTE a single meeting, that’s taking off your nose to spite your face.”

Gavin blinks. “You talking balls about my nose? No, don’t make that face, I’m joking.” He breathes out hard, then startles at the sound of gunfire just outside the door.

The gunfire cuts off suddenly in the wake of a furious scream. “YOU WANT TO SHOOT AT ME? AT ME? ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID? DO YOU HAVE A DEATHWISH? YEAH, YOU BETTER PUT THE FUCKING GUN DOWN! WALK AWAY, SHIT FOR BRAINS, AND LIVE ANOTHER FUCKING DAY.”

 _God of rage_ , Ryan thinks idly and starts backing away from the door. He walks into Gavin, who grabs his hand. “Hold still,” the young man says, uncapping a pen with his teeth. He writes on Ryan’s palm a string of numbers and then an alphanumeric that Ryan doesn’t understand. “All right, that’s my private line’s number and my email. You should drop me a line. But if it's anyone but you, I’ll burn both contacts immediately. Fair?”

That’s more than Ryan expected. He nods. “Just me. Fine.”

Gavin smiles. “I just gave Captain America my phone number. Heh.” He looks up as the door shakes violently, jumping away from Ryan to dash for it.

The door falls off its hinges with a ringing _clang_ , revealing Mogar in tattered armor; his cape is ripped and one of his epaulets is missing, and the linked metal down one arm is loose enough that Ryan instinctively knows it’s a weak point he could exploit. It all manages to make him look even angrier, his hair sparking with electricity and his hammer raised.

He subsides as soon as Gavin yelps, “Michael, hi!”

“I’m on the clock, you stupid shit,” Michael(?) snaps irritably even as he steps into Gavin’s space, eyes settling on the bandage. “What’d they do to you?”

“Me? I’m fine. Oh, they popped out my locator, the tossers. I’ll have to come up with a new one that’s harder to remove.” Gavin steps onto his toes, looking past Mogar. “Where’s Geoff?”

“Trying to murder Sorola, I think,” Mogar says, and his eyes track back to the bandage, an alien look in his amber eyes. They slide sideways, to Ryan, and Ryan instinctively shifts his stance, ready for a fight.

“No, he’s here,” a new voice says, and Geoffrey Ramsey appears in the doorway, his face alone visible as every other part of him is clad in steel grey and blue metal. “Gavin, you okay?” He sees Ryan too and instantly lifts his hand, showing the green ring of light set into his palm. It lets out a dangerous-sounding whine. “This guy fuck with you?”

Gavin dances back, holding his hands up. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m all right, but a bit minged I didn’t make my float trip with Barbara.”

“We’ll do it some other time,” Ramsey says, lowing his hand slowly. “You, with the chin. You work with Sorola.”

“Unfortunately,” Ryan says dryly.

“Good answer. Well, tell him that the next time he goes anywhere near my family, the only meeting he’s getting is his face meeting the ground at terminal fucking velocity. He _will_ be dead as dicks.”

Ryan nods. “I’ll pass that on.”

“Appreciate it. Gav, you ready to go home?”

Gavin beams and bounces on his toes. “Absolutely. Mi-- Mogar, are you coming?”

Mogar tears his gaze away from Ryan finally. “What? Uh, yeah. I’m carrying you back.”

“Top! You should stay for dinner,” Gavin says brightly, putting his hands on Mogar’s shoulders. With practiced ease, Mogar bends down and hooks his arm under Gavin’s knees, picking him up like he weighs no more than a pillow. “Your armor’s wrecked to shit. I’ll take your measurements and make you something new.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to! Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“Children,” Geoff says over them. “Come on, last train to Austin’s leaving.” His boots whine as he lifts off, floating out of the room. Mogar shares one last threatening look with Ryan before kicking off the ground and sailing after him silently.

Ryan waits until he’s sure they’re gone, then sits heavily on the edge of the table, sighing.

That could have gone better. But, he thinks as he looks at the scrawl written over his hand, he has the contact information they need, he wasn’t struck down by a hammer-wielding avatar of lightning, and he wasn’t arrested like Hullum. So, not too shabby for his first day at the new job.


	3. Prologue: no longer courting war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updated: 21 January 2014 to be in the right place

It’s a week after Michael had been rolled for a favor by the Ramsey family. A group of superpowered drug users had taken Jack and, by accident, Gavin, wanting a shot at the super soldier serum that Pattillo was rumored to have figured out. It had been a mess, with Jack unable to hulk out and free himself for fear of hurting Gavin yet being so angry, furious at what was happening.

Geoff had called in Michael as a ringer before hitting the hideout. It had been Geoff’s job to get Jack out safely, as setting a god of rage against a rage monster was acknowledged by all as a terrible idea.

Michael had found Gavin in one of the cells, arm in a sling, and the designer had taken one look at him and said, “Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?”

“What?”

“You’ve been living on Earth _how long_ and you’ve not seen Star Wars?” Gavin had sighed. “Travesty.”

“Whatever. You want out or what?”

Gavin had nodded, then yelped when Michael picked him up and carried him out. “I-- wow, that is impressive,” he’d muttered, clutching at the cape material at Michael’s shoulder. As if Michael would drop him. “I feel much like a damsel in distress.” He kicked his feet lightly. “You look like you could carry five of me, no sweat.”

“Try a hundred,” Michael had corrected before breaking through one of the walls of the hideout. “Hang on,” was the only warning Gavin got before he’d taken off, flying away.

Michael and Geoff had spent the rest of the week hunting down everyone in that druggie clan and putting them all in prison. It was a good bonding experience, and Michael was surprised at himself, how he adjusted to working _with_ someone. It wasn’t his thing, exactly, but he could stand the company pretty well.

So when Geoff had asked him over for dinner, Michael had said yes.

Leading him to here, where he’s been fed a truly amazing beef roast with parsnips and garlicky potatoes, not to mention the beer. Griffon points him to one of the guest rooms, allowing no argument (“You’re not drinking and flying, Michael. A police chopper would have to be the one to give you the ticket.”).

Michael meanders down the hall, then tries to remember which door he was being pointed towards. There’s two, and Michael tries the one on the right.

It’s not the guest room. It’s Gavin’s, and it’s dark but for the blue glow of a tablet. Gavin’s cross-legged on his bed, dressed down for sleep. Michael can’t not stare for a moment, taking in the folded figure of a boy. It almost makes sense, how Gavin spins complex machinery from some deep place of inherent magic in him; his body is also a complicated meld of angles and planes, bright with light shining from the tablet.

Gavin is slow to look up, but when he eventually does, he blinks. “Oh. Michael. Something you need?”

“What’re you doing?” Michael asks instead.

“Studying. I was a marketing major before I met the Ramseys. Now, I’ve got a lot to catch up on.” He budges over, and Michael realizes he’s being invited in. Hesitantly, he walks over to Gavin, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Too many times, I get away with myself and Griffon has to explain something about design or materials or...” Gavin grins, ducking his head. “Basic physics.”

Michael doesn’t know where to look. Gavin’s eyes are averted, and it doesn’t seem right to stare at him in his bedclothes. Though it’s hard _not_ to. “Your stuff, it reminds me of home,” Michael says quietly, already blaming the beer buzz humming through him. “You make things like they did-- bending the rules if need-be. Shaping out of...” He waves a hand, because he knows the concepts, not the practice; he was no forger. “Ideas instead of metals.”

Gavin gives him a disquieting look, peeking at him from under his fringe. “I... thanks.”

Michael nods, looking away, unsure what to say further about it. “So, uh. How’s the arm?”

“Hurts, but I’ll be fine.” Gavin’s smile is tight. Abduction does that to a man, probably. “Geoff and Griffon are talking about putting a beacon in me so they can find me if this sort of thing happens again.”

“They think it will?”

“We’re... going public with the suit soon. So, yeah.” Gavin shrugs one shoulder, going for casual and missing so badly that Michael winces. “You never know.”

He’s worried about it, Michael can see. He’s known Gavin a while, knows that he plays things aloof whenever he can, avoiding any hint that things sink in with him, that they bother him at all. It’s harder to do that with your arm in a sling and with the promise of darker skies coming soon.

Michael doesn’t like him this way, his face tight and worried as he tries to pretend he’s fine. That’s why Michael reaches around his own neck and pulls out a long chain with a pendant at the end. It’s a reminder of why he’s here, of what he did to be banished, and of why he now has to be _better_.

He leans in and says, “Hold still,” before putting it around Gavin’s neck.

Gavin looks at the pendant, a glittering piece of translucent material flushed with every color of the rainbow. “What’s this then?”

Michael gets up and takes a few steps away. “It’s-- something of mine from home. If you’re in trouble, I can find you with that. Just keep it on you.”

Gavin looks between Michael and the necklace a few times. “It’s pretty. You sure you want to give this to me? I, uh. Lose things.”

Michael chuckles. “It’s something I can always find, no matter what.” When Gavin continues to look worried, he goes on, “Gav. _If you lose it, I can find it_.”

“Oh.” He smiles. “Well, that’s all right then. Thanks.” And he lets it hang around his neck, the pendant sliding down his shirt. Michael can see it glowing underneath the thin, worn cotton of Gavin’s shirt, knows it’s resting just an inch under his collarbone.

He makes himself look away, to stop thinking about it. It’s hard; he can _feel_ the necklace, wherever it is, like his own personal compass north. He takes a steadying breath. “So, guest room is...?”

“Right across from mine,” Gavin answers, and when Michael dares a glance, he sees Gavin’s leaning over his tablet again, his long fingers tapping away. “Goodnight, Michael.”

“Night,” Michael mumbles and lets himself out.

Then, he leans forward, resting his head against the door, and works on the feeling of displacement aching through him.


	4. the art of holding a grudge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: one usage of a gendered slur (not directed at anyone), oblique reference to animal harm

Being the CEO of Ramsey Enterprises has given Geoff a deep appreciation for the power of words. Specificity. Loopholes. Anything that bends the rules until he gets what he wants. He snaps up the government contracts he wants, dodges the lawsuits he doesn’t want to deal with, gets his charge the citizenship he needs. Geoff is aware that he’s a pretty selfish guy, and he wants it his way, all day, every day.

That’s why he knows that what Sorola asked him was to come to BYTE’s latest meeting for the Hunters Initiative. He never said that Geoff needed to contribute. Or read the briefing papers. Or listen, really.

That’s why Geoff has his feet up on the chair next to him and his phone in his hands, tucked under the table as he texts his wife.

_Team is almost finished with new fabrication suite. Almost as good as the one at HQ._

Geoff looks over the picture she’s sent appreciatively before tapping back, _sexy. can i get a pic of u with the CNC machine?_

_Naked, I assume?_

_obvsly. will accept topless as well._

“Geoff. Geoff.” Jack nudges him from the next seat.

“Yeah?”

Jack elbows him again, harder until he looks up. The entire room is watching him, and Geoff refuses to look contrite. “What?”

Sorola closes his eyes and rubs his temples, plain distaste twisting his mouth. “Did you hear _any_ of what I just said?”

Geoff’s an honest man. “Not a bit.”

Sorola moves like he’s about to get up and start throwing punches. Tuggey beats him to his feet and flicks the projector back a few slides. “To sum up,” she says like she’s addressing the entire room rather than just Geoff, “Our final candidates are Barbara Dunkelman, Kerry Shawcross, and Ray Narvaez. We’ve established contact with each one and are bringing them in for their final interviews and tests this week. Hopefully we’ll have someone to round out the Initiative by month’s end.”

“Uh huh,” Geoff says loudly. “This is fascinating, but I usually leave the personnel shit to Griffon and Gavin, so I’m probably not the best to help out there.”

“For _fuck’s_ sake,” Sorola groans. “You have been complaining about BYTE not taking the Narvaroth threat seriously for weeks now and now we are, so fucking loan us Gavin to get people outfitted. We’ll have him back as soon as we can.”

Geoff doesn’t really have the right features for pulling bitchface at people, something about how his perpetually-sleepy expression ruins it, but that doesn’t stop him from trying, glaring at Sorola with a curled lip and bared teeth. “You know, Gus, maybe I’d believe that if--”

Sorola cuts him off with a heavy eye roll. “Jesus Christ, I am sorry about fucking borrowing him--”

“ _Kidnapping_ ,” Geoff corrects instantly. “Kid. Napping.”

He just yells louder, drowning out Geoff. “But if you hadn’t blown us off forty fucking times and taken a single goddamn meeting, we wouldn’t have had to do that!”

Pushing back his chair, Geoff gets up and picks up his briefcase, so tired of this fight he and Sorola have had so many times. “I will _ask_ him if he’s interested.” He jabs a finger at Sorola, then the other BYTE agents at the table. “If any of you make an attempt on him again, you are going to get acquainted with how much hurt we’ve got with your fucking names on it.” He steps back, to the door behind him. “And that includes my wife with a fucking laser cutter, so watch your goddamn step.” And then he’s gone, out the door and down the boring taupe walled hallways of BYTE HQ.

He checks his phone as he goes, and sees that Griffon’s declined to send him the saucy picture because the only person around who could take it is Gavin, who doesn’t need the trauma, frankly. That’s bad enough, but a second later, he gets a new text, from Gavin himself.

It just says, _Harsh_.

He sighs, deciding he shouldn’t be surprised. _stop listening in on adult meetings you little shit._

_Bored. Find out what sort of work they need done?_

_only if you eat your broccoli_ , Geoff fires back before putting his phone away.

He hears footsteps following him, and he’s ready to verbally castrate the stupid fuck who decided to come after him. Thankfully, it’s Jack that falls into step next to him and accidentally echos Gavin when he says, “That was harsh.”

Geoff glances sideways at him. “They stuck a giant fuck-off needle in Gav’s chest.”

Jack nods slowly. “I know. That was bullshit and you should’ve sued them. I mean, as much as you can sue a shadow organization.”

“Which is even less than you’d think,” Geoff mutters, voice thick with regret. If he could’ve nailed Sorola to the wall, he would have. Possibly _with_ a giant fuck-off needle. See how he liked it. “Spare me the lecture on how we need to work together for a brighter future. What did I miss from that meeting?”

Jack rubs his temple, sighing again. As they walk, they pass a group of BYTE agents who look at Jack, at the frustration on his face, and the lot of them scamper away like Dr. Pattillo’s liable to explode at any moment into a big green hurricane of destruction. How Jack stands BYTE for any extended period of time, Geoff has no idea. “Okay. For one, they were hoping you would keep in contact with them to share information, especially with the Narvaroth thing. And if you could get this to Mogar,” Jack reaches into his pocket and pulls out a communicator, standard BYTE issue, and hands it to Geoff. “They’d appreciate it.”

Geoff turns the thing over in his hands. “Mogar likes to travel light.”

“He’s also the first on the scene for most of these incidents. Just hold onto it.” Jack pulls out a glass tablet from his jacket and pushes his glasses up his nose with the air of a professor. “They’re wanting Gavin to design some gear for the new recruit too.”

“Who’s on the short list?”

“Barbara, Kerry Shawcross, and Ray Narvaez.”

Geoff snorts. “So it’s not Barbara.” When Jack gives him a questioning look, Geoff explains: “Barb’s already set up with gear from us. It was her last birthday gift. And Shawcross-- that’s the Spiderman kid, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That little guy’s been trying to get into BYTE’s programs for years. It’s not gonna be him. What’ve you got on this Ray kid?”

Jack pokes at the tablet for a moment, using an actual stylus. “Not a lot. He’s a newcomer, not a huge resume. I think Sorola’s a fan of what he brings to the Initiative. Wide range of powers.”

“Whatever,” Geoff says sourly. “While they do their background checks and auditions and shit, Mogar and I will make sure we don’t lose too many more civilian installations.” The incredulousness was obvious, but Geoff never understood letting fucking bureaucracy get in the way of actually _saving lives_. “Did you hear about Narvaroth’s latest stunt?”

Jack’s lips pressed together into an unhappy white line. “When he stole the knock-off super soldier serums and put them in the water at an ASPCA shelter? Yeah.”

“Seriously, what kind of sick fuck _does_ that?”

“The kind we need to stop.”

Geoff narrows his eyes at Jack, and Jack does the same in return. The berth BYTE’s people are giving them is impressive now, the agent’s practically hugging the walls, and Geoff will be amused by it later. From their perspective, it’s Iron Man and the Hulk about to wreck the place. For him, it’s just two old friends getting shirty with each other. Not a big deal.

Speaking of Iron Man wrecking shit, Geoff’s phone sounds, this time the sound of thunder rumbling. It was cliche and awful, but the ringtone had thus far worked great. Knowing exactly who it was and what it must’ve been about, Geoff checks his screen and reads the text. All it has is longitude and latitude.

“Gotta go,” Geoff says, and breaks off into a brisk jog, ignoring Jack as he calls after him. He needs a balcony, a window, anything he can fly out of.

When push comes to shove, there are only a few people in the world Geoff Ramsey will literally start running for. Two of them are obvious. Jack, whether he knows it or not, is third on the list.

Fourth is Michael.

So Geoff’s in the air in ninety seconds. He has a location lit up on his HUD in five more. It’s a quiet flight; usually, Geoff pings Gavin when he’s headed for a fight, getting Gavin in as tech. Having a second set of eyes watching the suit and the battle is always helpful, and Gavin’s voice has always been a comfort. But, a call from Michael has meant a new Narvaroth incident for the last two months, and as shitty as it is, Geoff is used to this asshole’s tricks by now and there’s no reason to call Gavin away from his new fabrication lab. Let the boy have his fun.

Geoff makes record time getting to Bumblefuck, Kansas. It’s said that Kansas is literally flatter than a pancake, and as such it’s a hell of a thing to see: a wide open cornfield, the stalks of crop bending and breaking in waves as pulses of lightning and darkness crash into each other. It’s getting late, the sun sinking low in a sky abruptly clouding over.

Geoff circles around them for a moment, letting his suit-board computer analyse the angles and possibilities. Michael’s holding his own, holding his hammer by the leather strap. It swings with tremendous force, leaving behind little craters every time it misses and hits the ground.

Narvaroth is surprisingly hard to track. The guy’s outfit is fucking ridiculous with gold and green robes and goddamn _horns_ rising out of the helm. As gaudy as he is, Geoff keeps losing him. He seems to step in and out of shadows that are cast by nothing. Narvaroth does this all the time, and Geoff’s never gotten a good look at the guy. He’s too quick, too fleet-footed, and has never been afraid of flat out running away when things get too heated.

For the moment, Michael and Narvaroth are locked into their fight, hammer versus rapier, and Geoff wants to jump in, to help, but it’s like an intricate dance between the two and Geoff’s not sure he could avoid hitting Michael if he took a shot before his targeting system fixed on Narvaroth.

The waiting game ends when Narvaroth vanishes, and Michael whirls, trying to find him. There’s no sign of their opponent until suddenly Narvaroth leaps out of thin air and knocks Michael down. He gets his sword to Michael’s throat, and Geoff doesn’t think before throwing up a palm and firing and hoping he hits the mark.

The repulsor blast catches Narvaroth in the face, and he flies off Michael. But then he rolls, keeps going, and he’s gone again, back into the crop field.

Geoff touches down, standing over Michael as the godling gets to his feet. “Fucking cowardly shithead,” Michael growls, holding his hammer aloft, ready to swing.

“What the fuck else is new?” Geoff switches through motion filters and infrareds, turning on his heel to look around, trying to find Narvaroth. “I’m getting nothing.”

Michael curses and flings his hammer in plain frustration. It lands with a loud thump amid the broken corn stalks. The sky is sympathetic to him; rain starts to pour down on them. Geoff’s glad he’s safe from it, sheathed like a well-loved weapon in superlight metal.

Michael’s wearing Gavin and Griffon’s handiwork as well, but he looks like an errant backpacker with the punky casual clothes Griffon sewed for him herself, a dark jacket with playful ragged seams and stitching that resemble the fanning branches of lightning. The real armor lay underneath, a muscle shirt made of woven proto-Adamantium and a fast-drying fabric. It hung loose around Michael and wouldn’t look out of place if he wore it out and about. There are touches of Gavin’s dramatic flair to the color and the shape of the thing. Geoff wonders if his family missed their calling in high fashion.

All of Michael’s armor (if it could be called that) is laced with waterproofing and fast-dry materials. Geoff wonders if they’d have gone through the trouble if they saw Michael like this, standing in the middle of the rain making zero attempts to keep himself away from the elements. Giving him waterproof equipment was like giving a duck a life preserver. Well-intentioned, but also fucking stupid.

The alien godling stretches and takes a few deep breaths. Geoff has seen him during his wind-down periods and keeps his distance, letting Michael take a moment to himself before he walks over. “We need to put a fucking tracking collar on that shithead. He’s everywhere,” Geoff says.

It’s an easy opening volley, but Michael hangs his head and sighs. “No. The thing is, he’s not everywhere at all.” At Geoff’s questioning look, Michael goes on, “I was already in the neighborhood. There was a barbeque festival in Kansas City.”

“Could be a coincidence.”

“No. I’ve been keeping track. When Narvaroth starts shit, it’s always random what he hits and how, but...” Michael shakes his head, his damp hair bouncing, heavy from the rain. “It’s always near me.”

Well, wasn’t that interesting. Geoff has grown rather fond of the volatile little sparkplug since meeting him a year ago. Michael has good taste in beer and a decent sense of humor, and he hardly minds all of the immigrant jokes that come up when he and Gavin are in the same room together.

He’s still an alien, though. And when a flash bastard with a similar set of magic-esque powers shows up and throws lives into danger but only in the vicinity of Mogar... Geoff has to wonder. As much as he wants to give the kid the benefit of the doubt, the rash of Narvaroth incidents are like being shown on a monthly if not weekly basis what the world would be like if Michael was a little less scrupulous.

“Michael,” Geoff says slowly, “is there something I need to know?”

Michael hangs his head and breathes some more. Geoff has trouble staying angry, mostly because that sort of effort is just exhausting. He can’t imagine how Michael handles it. “No. Or, not yet. I’m still trying to figure out what the fuck’s going on.”

Geoff nods. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Michael looks at him with guarded surprise.

“Yeah.”

Michael smiles, and Geoff feels the rain ease up. “So, uh.” He brushes his hair out of his eyes. “How’s Griffon?”

“She’s good. Just got a new fabrication lab-- means she can make more stuff at home. She’s excited.”

“That’s cool.” He looks at his feet, crunching down at a broken corn stalk. “How’s... How’s Gavin doing?”

 _Oh, here we go_ , Geoff thinks. “Fine. Working, causing trouble, the usual.”

Of course that isn’t enough for Michael. He pulls at his knit hat down lower and is apparently unable to look at Geoff, let alone meet his eyes. “Has he-- What’s he been working on?”

Jesus Christ. If Geoff were more of a romantic, it’d be sweet how the _thought_ of Gavin turned Michael into such a sixteen year old high schooler. Mostly, Geoff just doesn’t want to deal with it. It’s bad enough that Geoff is fairly sure Gavin is unknowingly walking around with an alien promise ring around his neck. Being the messenger of their weird long-distance not-relationship is too much.

“You know, you could stop bye and say hi sometime,” Geoff says. “Crash for a night.”

Michael bristles. “Did you not listen? The guy attacks where I am, and you want me to go hang around your family?” He shook his head. “No fucking way. You and me, that’s easy to pass off as a BYTE thing. The second I’m seen with your family, they become a target. I won’t do that to them.”

“We can take care of ourselves.” They may not all be displaced godlings, but Geoff is fairly sure they have enough firepower in their little ranch house to cause an international incident. Certainly enough to have a guest over.

But to Geoff’s utter lack of surprise, Michael disagrees. “No. I won’t risk-- it.” He turns away and reached out a hand. The hammer hums and returns itself to his grasp, and Michael lashes it to his belt. “I gotta go. I’ll call you for the next one.”

That they’ve reached a point that another attack is a matter of _when_ and not _if_... That’s why Geoff holds out the little communicator Jack gave him. “Hey. In case I can’t get there to back you up.” Michael takes the device, looks at the emblem emblazoned on it, and frowns. “I know, man, I know. Keep it off until you might need it.”

Michael snorts, like the idea is completely ludicrous, but puts the thing in his pocket. “I’ll keep them in mind for when I need to solve a problem in the most fucking ham-fisted way possible that leaves everyone with a stick up their ass.”

“Exactly,” Geoff says.

“Yeah.” Michael nods to Geoff. “Thanks again.”

And he watches Michael soar off, headed north, bringing the storms along with him.

Geoff flies south. If the only thing keeping Griffon from playing CNC pin-up girl is someone holding the camera, then Geoff can oblige.


	5. good intentions

Jack is minding his own business in BYTE’s biochemical lab when Captain America walks in and taps on the door. “Dr. Pattillo, can we talk?”

Captain Haywood is one of the few people that have tried to make Jack feel comfortable with BYTE. It was him asking Jack to come to BYTE Tower that made him finally show up, and it’s his word that grants him the ability to come and go freely with minimal security. There will always be some unobtrusive agents hanging around in Jack’s peripherals, but he doesn’t feel caged, and any time he’s let the Other Guy loose has been his choice, not fucking Sorola’s.

There are times when Jack sees Ryan staring off into the middle distance with an expression like a brick wall and wonders who he was before being frozen and if he’s still the same guy. At the end of the day, whichever it is, he’s a damn sight better than the alternatives.

So, Jack nods and turns off his microscope. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

Ryan strides over, all easy confidence, like the whole world is his property. It manages to not be irritating. Probably because he’s got that chin. “You and Geoff. You go way back.”

Jack sighs. “I don’t mean to stop you before you start, but Geoff’s the most stubborn son of a bitch in the world. And Sorola pissed him off.”

“That was unfortunate,” Ryan says with sympathy. “If I’d had more influence at the time, I’d had done something about that. But that doesn’t change our situation.”

“And what does BYTE think of our situation?”

Ryan leans down, his elbows on the table, voice pitching low. “They think that Mogar came on our radars very recently, and now Narvaroth, two aliens with more power than we understand. Maybe it’s a holding pattern. Or maybe the floodgates are about to open.”

Jack can’t disagree with any of that. “Is that what you think?”

Ryan tilts his head away, an _aw shucks_ expression over his face. “All I know is that Geoff and Mogar are the only people who are getting close to this Narvaroth guy consistently, and maybe they’ve handled it so far, but Narvaroth’s persistent. I don’t think he’s going to just keep taking his defeats lying down. I wouldn’t.”

An escalation. Jack could see that, _has_ seen it in how Sorola combats Geoff in every meeting, the edge of desperation to it. BYTE, Jack thinks, is fucking terrible, ineffectual at everything except pissing people off, but has potential. If it could get the right people involved, it could be a force to reckoned with. More people like Ryan. But Sorola’s the bee in Geoff’s bonnet and Mogar is still unreachable.

Something had to be done. Something _can_ be done, which is why Ryan is talking to Jack.

Jack sighs and asks, “What’re you thinking?”

Ryan smiles, says, “I thought you’d never ask, Dr. Pattillo.”

 

* * *

 

The only reason Jack actually says yes is because Ryan secures him a helicopter flight to Austin.

Helicopters are smaller, no doubt, and the space constraints bother Jack-- bother the Other Guy. But they fly lower to the ground and slower and there’s no pressured tube to fly around in. He’ll take a helicopter over a plane every day of the week.

The Ramsey ranch has expanded over the past few years. The security’s better, and there are some additions to the house, mostly underground. One addition to the outside is a landing pad for a helicopter, and that’s where Jack is left after his flight. The helicopter doesn’t even touch down, not having clearance from the Ramseys to do so, and once Jack is clear, it lifts off again and flies off quickly.

Jack doesn’t know what sort of air defense the Ramseys have. He thinks BYTE knows and isn’t keen on testing it.

It’s a long walk over to the house, and Griffon’s already waiting on the porch when he gets there. She’s in a yellow sundress, wearing a warm smile, and uses the height advantage of standing on higher ground to wrap him in a hug, smushing his face into her chest. “Jack, my most handsome friend, welcome back.”

Jack sputters and hugs her back so she’ll release him from her breast-hold. “Griffon, hi. Long time no see.”

“You’re in time for dinner. Come on.”

She brings him inside, and it’s just as homey as he remembers. He knows that underground, the ranch is one of the most advanced workshops in North America, but the first floor is rustic and smells like chicken pot pie. He feels himself relax, more calm than he’s felt in months. The low-grade buzz of irritation that he carries everywhere, that was exacerbated by BYTE Tower, fades.

Geoff is in the kitchen with a glass of golden brown bourbon and oven mitts, in full house husband mode. He grins when Jack wanders in. “Hey, man. Nice to see you. What’s up?”

Jack borrows Geoff’s glass, taking a sip and sighing appreciatively. “Ryan thought I could do with some time away, and I haven’t been around for a while.”

“Nice to have you,” Geoff’s smirk gets a little bitter, “but I don’t think that’s the only reason you’re here.”

They could get into that, jump right to the topic that’s going to sour Jack’s trip. Griffon instead holds up a hand and says, “Save it until after dinner, boys.”

They have four ramekins, and Jack wants to ask, to figure out how they knew he was coming. Maybe Geoff just intended on having two, though, if the way he eyes Jack’s portion is any indicator.

It’s just the three of them for most of dinner, drinking, eating good homemade food, and catching up. Jack talks about the projects he’s working on, trying not to get too advanced. Nothing is worse than seeing the Ramseys’ eyes glaze over the moment they stop following along. Griffon in turn talks about some new things she’s trying in the labs as well as the performance spaces she’s opening around Austin.

Geoff doesn’t share any news. His life’s been nothing but BYTE and Narvaroth for a while and everyone at the table knows the stories already.

It was towards the end of the meal when Gavin rolls in. He makes a beeline for the fridge, grabbing a Red Bull, then reaching for the last ramekin. He squeaks as soon as his hands make contact, sticking his finger in his mouth.

Griffon rolls her eyes. “Yeah, it’s still hot. Sit down and eat.”

“But, I was--”

“ _Sit_ , Gavin.”

Gavin sighs and sets his things down at the table, then moves the ramekin with a towel. “Right then. Hullo, Jack, how’re you, how’s Big and Green?”

Jack smiles. “Fine and still quiet, respectively. How’s whatever you’re working on?”

“BYTE Tower remodel, and tippy top.” There’s a venom to his grin that makes it hard for Jack to remember he’s not _actually_ Geoff and Griffon’s blood, the easy cruelty so familiar. “I’ll show you later.”

Gavin’s only just breaking into the crusted top of the pot pie when Geoff’s phone rings, a growl of tinny thunder. Geoff curses and gets up, thumb working at the screen. “Fuck. That’s not close...” He tucks the phone away, leans over the table to kiss Griffon, then ruffles Gavin’s hair as he passes around the table. “I’ll be out late.”

Gavin starts to get to his feet. “Do you want--”

“No, it’s Narvaroth. I’ll be fine, you can review the data after,” Geoff says.

“I-- Be careful! And tell Michael I said hi!” Gavin calls after him, then visibly deflates once Geoff is gone. “That’s... twice this week?”

Griffon nods solemnly, folding her hands and tucking them under her chin. “Yeah.” Her eyes slide to Jack’s. “Jack. Why don’t you tell us what BYTE wants?”

He reaches out, silently offering his hand, and Griffon takes it, squeezing. She looks to Gavin, tells him, “You can take that down to the lab. Jack and I are going to talk for a while.”

“Are you sure?” Gavin asks, and his enthusiasm’s plummeted in the wake of Geoff’s departure. One moment, they are the happy strange family Jack cares so much for. The next, it’s like the colors been drained out of them. It’s awful.

“Yeah. Shoo, boy,” she says, and he does with none of his usual energy. Once he disappears, Griffon’s attention returns to Jack. “So. You have a list or something?”

Jack doesn’t want to do this, not with the sword of Narvaroth hanging over the family. He knows what that’s like, doing everything as reaction to something large and looming. He’s lived with that since the Other Guy showed up and would never wish it on this friends.

“Griffon...” Jack looks away, to the hallway Gavin just disappeared down.

Griffon notices and sighs, rubbing her face. “Okay. Okay.” She shakes her head, her ponytails bouncing against her face. “All right. But I want you there. I don’t fucking trust those fucksticks at BYTE as far as I can throw them. You need to be there to watch him, especially if BYTE’s going to be taking on Narvaroth and painting a giant target on their backs.”

Jack’s already nodding along. “I will. And Ryan will help-- he can keep Sorola at a distance. I can keep the bad guys away.”

She squeezes his hand tighter. “Good. Then... I’ll have Gav shipped up to New York with some equipment he’ll need.”

“I’ll clear the path for him,” Jack says. “Make sure everyone understands.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, gathering up dirty dishes and glasses, carrying them to the sink. Then, ignoring the high-end dishwasher, she sets to scrubbing everything by hand. “Go let him know. He’ll be in the usual place.”

It’s not a harsh dismissal, but it’s a dismissal none the same. He leaves her alone; Jack would like to think he knows what he’s asked of her, but probably not; Jack lost a lot in his accident, but he never had a spouse or a son (or protégé or whatever she thinks of Gavin as).

Downstairs, he finds Gavin standing on his desk with a blue light pointer in his hand. His toes are curled over the edge of the desk, and he rocks to and fro in tune to the pop rock playing over the speakers.

Jack doesn’t know how the lab works, but it’s fascinating to stand just to the side of Gavin and watch him paint the air with sketchy lines of white-blue. The lines hang in the air, and when Gavin reaches out, he spins the drawing and adds more dimension to it until it starts to come together into something that almost looks solid.

Jack looks at the building design as Gavin rotates it. “Gavin.”

“Yes, Jack, hullo.” He leans forward, and Jack almost wants to grab him and put him on the ground, but resists the urge. Gavin acting like some weird exotic bird around the lab is nothing new.

“Is that the BYTE Tower redesign?”

“Mmhm.”

“And are you counting on them being okay with a tower that looks like a penis?”

Gavin’s mouth twists as he fights not to smile. Rocking back on his heels, he draws a few more lines. “No, see, it’s a key.”

Jack laughs softly. “I’m pretty sure that’s a penis.”

Gavin tips his head to the side. “Do you think they’d notice?”

“I hope I’m in the room when you present the plan to Sorola.”

Gavin stills for a moment, lowering his pointer and looking at Jack. His eyes lack their usual brightness, but there’s no fear to him. “So... I’m going to BYTE Tower.”

“If you want.”

“I don’t,” Gavin says quickly. “But I’ll go anyway.” Sighing hard, he closes out his project, hopping off the desk and padding away. “I’ll need to bring some things.”

“You’ll be okay,” Jack tells him. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Gavin bobs his head, but keeps his back to Jack. “I know.”

“Gavin.” Jack feels a pang of guilt that he’s doing this, especially with Geoff flying out to help Mogar. It feels like subterfuge, but... Jack knows Ryan is right, that they need the Ramseys, especially if Mogar continues to avoid any semblance of teamwork with BYTE.

And Gavin will be fine. Jack is certain that BYTE has learned its lesson with the designer, and if anything comes at him from outside, well. The Other Guy didn’t like his friends being hurt much more than Jack did.

That covers the bases.

 

* * *

 

Geoff is initially furious at Jack, at Griffon, at Sorola (though that one’s not news) when he shows up at BYTE Tower for a meeting only for Gavin to sit next to him. It’s the type of anger that he can’t articulate, just making quiet, mad noises and keeping his arm around Gavin’s shoulders, glaring at anyone who addresses him.

But Jack knows Geoff, and he’s not surprised when the anger just.... goes away. Geoff’s never been able to hold onto negative emotions very well. It’s an ability Jack’s always been jealous of.

Geoff hovers around Gavin for his first days at BYTE, but when Ramsey Enterprises needs one of its CEOs in for quarterly meetings, Geoff reluctantly leaves, though not before making Jack swear to look after Gavin.

For a while, he does. It’s Gavin that kicks Jack out of the lab, telling him to, “piss off back to the squishy sciences.” Jack is sure to remind Gavin that his PhDs are all honorary before leaving him to his work, dodging an inexpertly thrown pen as he left.

On his way back to his own lab space, Jack runs into Ryan and a new face. He’s a whipcord lean young man with dark hair, and a lot of it, expressive eyebrows and a well-kept goatee. His glasses are dark hornrims that don’t quite hide his bright gem green eyes. He looks almost exceptionally harmless, but then again, so does Jack.

“Jack,” Ryan greets evenly. “Look who finally made it out of HR’s claws.” He pats the young man’s shoulder. “This is Ray, the new addition to the team. I was about to show him around a bit.”

Jack offers his hand. “Jack Pattillo. Nice to meet you, Ray.” He hooks a thumb back over his shoulder. “Have you met Gavin yet? He’ll be making all your equipment.”

Ray smiles. “No, I haven’t,” he says quietly. “Maybe you can introduce me?”


	6. architects of rise

For a secret government organization that likely has a budget that’s always blacked out, even more secret than the actual work it does, BYTE’s lab facilities were pretty lackluster.

Were, of course. Gavin has a mind to fix that. If Sorola’s people are so adamant about having him around to work, he’s going to at least have the equipment he needs.

That in mind, Gavin arrives at BYTE Tower with essentially every piece of his home design lab that could travel: Banks of servers with reference material and enough power to run his blue light imaging suite, the holographic projectors needed to run said suite, giant electric glass boards that could run anything from drafting software to Skyrim at maxed settings, and his own work computer that he sets up himself, not allowing anyone to touch it until it’s up and running and protected.

It’s not home. But it’s workable.

The annoying thing is the space is smaller than his home lab. Once everything is set up, Gavin has even less room. When he wants to look through his suit designs, he pulls them up onto the glass boards, but they all overlap too much to make sense of.

Sighing, Gavin pulls off his lab coat and starts shoving the things around, wheeling them this way and that until his work space looks like a circular labyrinth of glass and blue light. Weaving between the aisles is a pain, but he can see what he’s doing and that’s all that matters.

“Man,” someone says from the doorway. “It’s like living in a prism in here.” He’s obscured by layers of electric glass, but as Gavin cranes his head to see him, he winds around to the center of the room. “You ever see one of those videos of the dog running into the porch door?”

Gavin wipes the slight sweat from his brow. “Oh. Uh, Ray, right?”

“Hey, you remembered.” Ray moves like Ryan, Gavin thinks as the man prowls up to him. There’s a lightness to his steps and a length to his stride that Gavin only really sees with them. “Whoa, man, you packing heat under that white coat?” He reaches out and gives Gavin’s bicep a squeeze. “What’s with the bare feet? Should I leave my sneaks at the door?”

“Uhm, I-- erhm.” Gavin shakes himself, stopping to pull it together. “No, you can do as you like. I just...” He picks up his coat again, shrugging it on. “Yanno, heavy lab coat, balance it out with cold feet. Keeps me awake, helps me think.”

“I wasn’t knocking it, man,” Ray says, putting his hands up placatingly. “Just curious about the process of Doctor Ramsey-Free. Everyone was buzzing when they found out you’d be showing up.”

Gavin winces. “Just Gavin, please.” He pads back to his desk, putting it between himself and Ray. The guy seems friendly enough and that’s nice in a place like BYTE Tower, full of spies and government agents and generally untrustworthy people. It’s hard to keep his head, and he wants that bit of distance.

It’s a very solid point in Ray’s favor that he doesn’t try to move in again.

“So,” Gavin says slowly, picking up his pointer and clicking it at the glass boards. They light up with blueprints and design documents. Yes, _now_ he can see. Excellent. He smiles and throws himself back into his chair, satisfied. “I’m to make you into something battle-worthy, then?”

Ray’s eyebrows lift as he smirks. “That’s, uh. That’s the idea, I guess. You up for that?”

Gavin’s grin is easy and smug. “Oh, _very_ much so. There’s very little I cannot do.” For extra style points, he tosses his pointer in the air, arcing it so the beam of light sails through the air.

He then misses the catch, and hears Ray burst out laughing as he fumbles to get the thing back. “I can see that!”

“Shut it or I’ll put you in gilded turquoise.” Recovering his pointer, Gavin settles back in his chair and with much more calm pulls up an empty document. “Tell me about yourself, Ray.”

The BYTE recruit, fresh faced as he is, blinks, looking sheepish. “Forward. Wanna buy me a drink first?”

Gavin hops to his feet and goes to the minibar hidden in one of the server cabinets. “What’s your poison?”

If Ray had Gavin off-guard when he walked in, the tables have clearly turned. Ray looks at his feet, rocking from one foot to the next as he chuckles. “Uh... soda? I didn’t expect you to call my bluff there. I don’t actually drink.”

Gavin grins and pours himself a quick drink, just some Firefly vodka. He sips at it as he lazily writes in the air with his other hand, labeling the new document: _Narvaez, Ray - Initial Write-up_. “A Ramsey never jokes about liquor. Now, talk to me.”

Ray takes a few things out of his pockets first; in a careful line across the desk, he sets out a lighter, an eight ounce bottle of water, and a small rough sedimentary rock. In turn, he picks up each and demonstrates.

Gavin watches as he takes each object in one hand and pulls his other hand through the air, slow like moving through something thick and heavy. In the wake of each gesture is a trail of fire, a sprinkling of water, a swirl of sand.

Ray puts the items down and says, “I can do that, but, um. Bigger. A lot bigger.”

“Huh,” Gavin says. “Tell me more.”

 

* * *

 

Gavin has luckily worked with this sort of thing before. At a much larger scale, obviously; the might of Mogar’s electric wrath was the reason Gavin and Griffon burned through the Mark 5, 6, and 7 Iron Man armors as they tried to get Geoff’s suit to play nice with Michael’s singular presence.

(A lot of good patents came out of it though. Geoff said it’d been a rocking few months for Ramsey Enterprises.)

Ray’s abilities aren’t like that, but the sort of inexplicable elemental power idea, it’s familiar. And with a little help, Gavin thinks Ray could carry some oomph with him.

The start of it’s boring, but necessary. Gavin takes Ray out onto one of the balconies and checks resonance, which mainly involves watching Ray conjure over and over, sometimes while holding a bit of quartz, sometimes a sphere of vibranium. He collects a full hard drive of data to shift through and sends Ray away while he gets the boring number crunchy bits done.

And Ray does stay away for half a day. Then he wanders back in Gavin’s lab and just... stays.

“I’m not going to be done for a while yet,” Gavin tells him.

“That’s fine. You’re just... nicer than the rest of these people.” Ray shrugs, looking at his shoes. “And you’re not as intimidating as Captain America.”

“Few people are,” Gavin agrees. He likes Ryan, no doubt, but he understands, and if Ray wants a place away from it all, he can share. Ray’s easy to share space with, albeit a little boisterous.

When he’s done reviewing data, he tells his computer to compile the results on its own and goes to the center of the room with his pointer. “C’mere a tic,” he tells Ray, who bounds over.

“What’s up? Ready?”

“Nah, results are still coming together. But I want your measurements. Stand here, back straight, and hold still,” Gavin says. When Ray does, Gavin starts to trace. He draws out the line of Rays’ shoulders, traces down his arms, catches the circumference of his head, all in lingering blue light in the middle of the lab.

When he’s got the stencil, as it is, he saves it, storing the wireframe in a file before getting to the _real_ fun. Living with Griffon for so long has been a learning experience for Gavin, and his aesthetics take off from hers quite plainly. He starts to sketch, throwing basic shapes and joints onto the design before getting dramatic with it: a mask, crisscrossing over the face by the bridge of the nose. “Those glasses are prescription, yeah?”

Ray nods, standing back, watching Gavin walk in loops around the sketch, tossing in details and cleaning up lines as he goes.

“How’s your mobility?”

“I can fly,” Ray says. “But I’ve also cleared all of BYTE’s combat and movement courses. I’m good at parkour.”

“Noted,” Gavin says, and puts his pointer in his mouth, waving his hands until a keyboard appears before him and allows him to add notes.

“Holy shit,” Ray says.

“Nice, right?” Gavin beams with pride.

“How much tail does this thing get you? You bring anyone in, do some fluorescent 3D nudes, get done on the desk?”

“Bloody hell, no!” His words are muffled, indistinct around the pointer. It’s hard to focus on his annotations about shock absorption when he’s snickering. “I... No, I don’t, none of it.”

“Why not?”

Gavin bites his lip and doesn’t answer. It’s a bit sad, because the best he can come up with is that... he’s busy. He doesn’t go out much. That was one of the trade-offs when the Iron Man project went public; everyone knew his name and face. He couldn’t so much as tweet Geoff asking about lunch without Gizmodo reporting on it. After a while, he just grew... wary of everything. Pathetic, but true.

Eventually, Ray says, “I like the X designs.”

“Oh. Those are just my guidelines.”

Ray leans in to look. “Huh. Can you incorporate them? The one across the chest and the one above the ass?”

Gavin hums and traces over the lines, darkening them and sketching outward, working them into the aesthetic. “There?”

“Very sexy.” Ray grins. “My superhero name can be something douchey and obvious like... The Mighty X.”

“Bullseye,” Gavin suggests lightly.

“Algebra Man.”

“Eckes.”

“X-Ray.” Gavin snorts at that, the most ridiculous of the ideas. Ray’s grin grows. “X-Ray it is.”

“What? X-Ray? It’s a bit on the nose, innit?”

“More so than Captain America?”

He can’t really argue with that, especially after he did a pass over Ryan’s uniform, as it were. There’s no room for subtlety when your subject is a living symbol of patriotism. Compared to him, Ray would be fine. So, he saves what he’s gotten before returning to his desk. “That was the easy part,” he tells Ray. “Now, I need to marry it all together.”

“If anyone can make me not look like a fucking idiot, it’s you, Gav.”

 

* * *

 

It’s late at night at BYTE Tower when Gavin is fitting the gloves for Ray. There are distinct materials that amplify Ray’s powers, and Gavin integrates them into his design to help Ray with control and sheer strength. It’s the sort of work Griffon usually does; Gavin draws things up, lets her modify anything she likes, then she whisks away his ideas to conjure them into physical reality. It’s a process he’s used to and enjoys.

Doing the stuff by hand is less fun. He’s been taught how to work with the various tools and machines, but he lacks her years of experience. It’s slower and tedious and even though Gavin knows she has to stay local to Austin while Gavin and Geoff are away, he still wishes she could be there to help him.

He’s completed one glove, the right hand amplifier, and is just started on the left hand one that would hopefully let Ray use his powers without having to carry a bloody rock around, when he gets a blip on his computer. It’s an average thing; when Geoff’s put the suit through its paces, Gavin reviews the data. Especially when Geoff doesn’t ping him before a fight, as Gavin reads the data feeds better and knows when maintenance is needed.

He’s glad for the distraction from the gloves and opens up the logs, setting them to auto-scroll for him. His eyes take in the numbers with mechanic detachment. Things are within acceptable parameters, everything’s fine, maybe they’ll do a tune up next week--

Gavin’s hand jumps out to grab the mouse and scroll back before he really registers what he’s seen. The wave of upset hits him first, the gut clench of fear and worry.

_Altitude drop, sudden spike in G force, armor integrity breaches along the spine, three inner bodysuit punctures across the back, internal stasis systems failing..._

Gavin falls out of his chair in his haste to get at his jean pockets, to get his phone out. It’s programmed to call Geoff with one precise swirling gesture across the touchscreen, something Gavin has done hundreds of times, but now his hands shake so hard he doesn’t manage it until the fourth try.

As soon as the line picks up, Gavin’s asking, “What the fuck happened? Are you okay?!”

Geoff sounds tired when he sighs and says, “I’m okay, lad.”

“Really? _Really_?” Gavin’s fingers fly across his keyboard, pulling up information from the supplementary logs. “Because I don’t think losing that much blood counts for being _okay_!” He looks at the time stamps and digs one hand into his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. “Why am I hearing about this seven hours later?”

“Gavin,” Geoff says in a quelling tone. “There was no point to worrying you.”

“Oh, was there not?” His voice is fraying, he can hear it. “When would there have been? When you _bled out_?”

“Gavin! I’m not fucking dying, calm the fuck down!”

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” Gavin shouts back, “but the entire reason for the mechanical prosthesis is to protect you!”

“And the fact that I’m alive after getting stabbed three times means it was a resounding success! Do you want a fucking medal?”

Gavin leans on the desk, his knees weak. “You were _what_?”

His heart is in a vice as Geoff sighs again. He sounds so _weary_ and Gavin can scarcely handle the painful mix of emotions in his chest, the fear and anger and homesickness and regret. He’s almost two thousand miles from Austin and Geoff’s laid up at home or at a hospital and Gavin feels so insignificant and useless he can’t stand it. And that Geoff already sounds worse and it’s solely from dealing with Gavin, it burns him.

“Lad, are you there?”

He has his head in his hand, eyes tightly shut. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

“I’m going to be okay. Your fucking genius suit saved my life. Do you hear me?”

Gavin nods and says in a tiny voice, “Yeah.”

“I’m going to be okay,” he repeats yet again. “So stop worrying about me and go make amazing shit that saves other people’s asses too.”

His response is something quiet and vague, but Geoff accepts it, leaving Gavin with a phone pressed to his ear and no one on the other end. He holds it there for a while, afraid if he moves he’ll shake apart.

A hand lands heavy on his shoulder and Gavin would startle if there was room for anything but the fear-worry-guilt composite in him. He looks and sees Ray.

“Hey,” Ray says quietly. “I only heard your end of that but it sounded rough.”

Gavin says nothing.

The hand squeezes. “Come on. You look like you need a drink.”

The idea is so fucking tempting, Gavin can almost taste the alcohol. “As nice as that would be, I’m not allowed out of the tower without security and I’m not in the mood for a gun-totting nanny tonight.”

“Dude,” Ray says and walks across the room, weaving through the glass boards to reach the far window that overlooks New York City. “X-Ray is here to help.” One window opens, just enough to pass through, and Ray steps right out onto open air before turning back and holding out a hand.

Gavin doesn’t think twice. He shrugs off his coat, tossing it back on his desk and slips on a pair of loafers before following Ray. He’s flown with people before, with Geoff and Michael. All he has to do is not look down.

It’s not as smooth with Ray, admittedly. Ray takes Gavin’s weight and immediately drops ten feet with a surprised grunt. “Damn, you’re twiggy but you aren’t light.”

Gavin shuts his eyes. “Down, please?”

“Sure thing.” They glide down, Gavin feels it, and he breathes a sigh of relief when his feet touch the ground. Not that he doesn’t trust Ray but... flight, right? It’s rough but Gavin has trouble not comparing to Geoff (as Gavin built extendable footholds into the suit just for this) or Michael (who carried Gavin like he weighed nothing).

The important thing is they find a bar and Gavin orders something to melt his fucking brain. He’s given something nice and clear that smells like lighter fluid, which he then orders two more of before settling on a whiskey on the rocks. Ray watches, winces every time Gavin knocks a shot back, but doesn’t try to stop him; he just rubs Gavin’s shoulder.

Alcohol acts as a downy blanket, wrapping around Gavin’s brain until he still feels awful, but it no longer matters as much. He rubs at his face, scrubbing at the tightness he can feel across his own features. “This fucking sucks.”

Ray nods. “Yeah, I figured. So... Iron Man’s down for a while?”

Gavin barks a laugh. “Yep. Laying in a bed somewhere, recovering. And I’m meant to be happy ‘bout it.” He raises his glass. “Here’s to me then.”

“If I drank, I’d drink to that,” Ray says with not an ounce of sarcasm. “You’re fucking amazing, man. I know it’s hard to see now, but...”

“Hoorah,” Gavin mutters bitterly. “And now Mogar’s gonna be out there on his own dealing with the tosspot Narvaroth.”

Ray’s hand starts to rub circles between Gavin’s shoulder blades. His hand is warm, and Gavin tries not to sway back into it. He’d likely fall off his damn stool if he did. “You should, like... build another superhero.”

Gavin shook his head and tapped the bar for another refill. “If only.”

With a puzzled tilt to his head, Ray asked, “What’s stopping you?”

“What’s-- Ray. You can’t _build a superhero_.” They hardly came in a megabloks set, though the idea of that was enough to make Gavin snicker to himself.

“Isn’t that what the Iron Man project is? I mean... Geoff Ramsey, he’s just the guy in the suit, right?”

Gavin’s head whips to glare at Ray. “Geoff isn’t _just_ anything.”

“Whoa. Whoa man, I just meant... All the guy’s tools for do-gooding, they’re from the suit, right?”

“Nah, he’s... Geoff’s former army.”

“Yeah, a _photographer_. I read all the shit about you guys in TIME and Newsweek and Esquire and whatever.” Ray shrugs, looking away. “I dunno how these things work. You’re the genius. I just thought... you made Geoff a suit and you’re making me gear that’ll make me into something, right? That’s like building a superhero.”

Gavin thinks it’s a lot more complicated than Ray’s making it out to be, but he can’t figure out why or how to explain it. He just takes another pull of his drink and lets it sit on his tongue until it stops tingling, then swallows all at once.

“Sorry, man. Just a suggestion. I know you wanna help your dad,” Ray says, face pinched.

“And Michael,” Gavin adds instantly, thinking of three stab wounds and Michael’s tunic armor. Gavin has no way of monitoring the gear he’s given Michael and he’s not had the chance to do any maintenance on it. The idea that what happened to Geoff might happen to him next makes Gavin take another big swallow, wincing at the pain. “And he’s.... not my dad, exactly. Dad’s in England.”

“Oh.” Ray leans forward on an elbow, watching Gavin steadily. “Then what’s the thing with the Ramseys?”

Gavin seesaws his hand, and Ray reaches out to grab his arm; he’d started swaying. “Complicated. I mean, I gueeeeess they’re like my mum and dad? But not really. They’re my Yank family.”

Ray smiles at that, or maybe at the slur of Gavin’s words. It’s really unfair that he’s entirely sober right now. “I just pictured you getting picked up for a date by a girl-- or guy?” Gavin blinks, but Ray keeps going before he can say anything to that. “And Mr. Ramsey giving them the shotgun speech in the full suit.”

Gavin lets out a surprised squeak, covering his mouth as he snickers. “He-- he would, is the brilliant thing!”

“That sounds like a fucking nightmare.” He looks away, taking off his glasses to clean them, but Gavin can still see the curve of his smile. “If it were me, I’d break you out through a window.”

Maybe it’s the drink or the low lighting of the bar or the way the way Ray’s watching him with this guarded look, but Gavin has the impression he’s being flirted with. He’s not entirely sure, mind, but the idea of it is rather nice. “You’ve already done that now. Is that your signature move?”

“Depends,” Ray murmurs, and there’s a curl to his words that is _not_ just the whiskey messing with Gavin’s head. “Would that work on you?”

Gavin bites his lip, feeling suddenly quite bashful. “Dunno. There’s a lot of security around the ranch.”

“But you’ve got access, right?” Ray leans in, voice pitching lower. “How’s that play? I roll up on my bicycle and whistle, you let me in?”

He suddenly needs another drink. His face is hot and the glass is nice and cool against his face. “You... you ask a lot of questions.”

Ray immediately relents, leaning back in his chair. Gavin tries not to be disappointed. “Nice dodge.”

“It’s not! It’s true! You ask me about stuff all the time. What about you?”

Ray looks away. “I’m not nearly as interesting as you, Gav.”

Somehow, he doubts the elemental’s life has been so dull. Gavin snorts. “Lemme judge that. How’d you... oh, how’d you wind up at BYTE?”

The question seems to startle Ray a little; he leans away for a moment, his face flashing with something unhappy and tight. The expression fades as he watches Gavin watching him. “I didn’t even tell my interviewer that.” His green eyes seem unnaturally bright as he holds Gavin’s gaze. “So... I used to run with this group. Some people like me, some not. We were close, and we took care of each other.” He took a deep breath. “One of them, he was... he and I were like brothers in arms, you know? Anyone hurt our family, we took them out.” Ray smiles, this time laced with sorrow and regret. “And we were fucking _powerful_. We got shit done.”

Gavin doesn’t take Ray’s hand, but does let his fingers brush against Ray’s wrist lightly. “What happened?”

A haunted look takes over Ray’s face. “He fucked up. He... fucked up _big_. And we weren’t welcome there anymore.” His mouth presses together into a thin white line. “Boring story.”

“I’m sorry,” Gavin says with sincerity. “That’s hardly fair. You lost them?”

Ray huffs a laugh. “And him too. That’s what-- what burns. We went down together, right?” He lifts his hands and drops them in a hopeless gesture. “Then I lost him. It’s like... at least he and I, we should’ve stuck it out, right?” He shakes his head, slow and sad. “Nope. Just me. All on my lonesome.”

That defeatism and the way it dulls Ray’s eyes makes Gavin reach out and squeeze his hand. “Not anymore, yeah?”

Ray looks at Gavin’s hand, then follows the line of his arm up to Gavin’s face. His smile warms. “Yeah. Though I gotta ask: how drunk are you?”

“I may need a bit of a nap,” Gavin admits. He’s no longer sick to his stomach at the thought of Geoff and the buzz that’s settled around him is _excellent_. Satisfied, Gavin throws down some money, possibly far too much, and starts to get up only to lose his footing.

An arm around his back catches him. “Right. Let’s get you back, you lush.”

Gavin doesn’t remember much of the trip. He knows they walk into BYTE Tower through the lobby, and Gavin sneers at the scandalized security people who only just learned that Gavin slipped their net. Ray chuckles and says something about not antagonizing the people with guns. Gavin points out they’re not about to shoot him now they’ve finally got him, which Ray concedes.

His quarters are close to his lab, and Ray helps him into bed. By then, Gavin’s half-asleep, limbs lethargic and clumsy as he struggles to get his shoes off. The shirt is even harder, and Ray has to help him untangle his arms from the sleeves.

As soon as he’s free, Gavin slumps down onto the bed, yawning expansively.

Like through fogged glass and murky water, he sees Ray standing over the bed, staring down at him. His mouth slightly agape, he starts to reach for Gavin’s neck. “No... What the _fuck_ ,” he mutters, and Gavin would ask but he slips away into sleep.


	7. architects of ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for gaslighting.

Gavin nibbles at the end of his pointer as he lays on the desk, staring up at the feedback. It’s all in the green, so to speak, and he’s not worried. He’s got the faint glow in his chest of a job well done. A few tweaks are all that will be needed, and that’s just smoothing really. He’s done his job well.

Ray says as much when he bounds in after his debriefing. “Gavin, holy shit.”

“Mmhm,” Gavin hums, staying on the desk, bouncing his leg on his knee.

“Holy _shit,_ did you see how much boom I was packing?”

“I did,” Gavin says evenly. “I think I can do better on that, honestly. The fitting’s a bit shaky.”

Ray walks up to Gavin’s desk and boosts himself onto it, sitting next to Gavin. “This is what I was talking about. You’re amazing.”

“Well, they don’t hand out honorary PhDs to random blokes on the street, do they?” Gavin sits up, closing out the feeds on Ray’s gear. “I imagine you’ve got things to do, but leave me the gloves and I’ll get those handled.”

“You don’t take breaks, do you?” The gloves are unlatched and slide off, handed over with an air of reverence that Gavin doesn’t think their wobbly settings deserved.

“I do, all the time actually. I just like to work on other techy shit when I’m not working. It’s awful.” Gavin turn the gloves over in his hands, noting the slight wear in the palm of the amplifier. Another coat of flame resistant gel will take care of that. Redoing the paint job is annoying though.

“You should get out more,” Ray says, leaning over to watch Gavin, as though he were doing something interesting.

“Bit harder than it sounds. Popping out at eleven on a Wednesday night is one thing, but everyone fucking knows my face and, look, I don’t have the best track record for staying out of trouble.”

“Design a mask.” He taps his own face, calling attention to the criss-cross black and green mask fitted over his own face, his eyes hidden behind red glass. It was a fast design from Griffon; Gavin had fired off his suit design to her and she had given him the mask concept in return. It would play hell with facial recognition software, shield the eyes particularly from the glare of a flame if Ray conjured one up, and even managed to not look completely stupid.

All credit to Griffon for that last one, honestly.

“How exactly is that going to draw _less_ attention?”

Ray gives Gavin a half of a smirk. “Hey. Remember what we talked about? At the bar when you were getting shitfaced?”

“I try not to,” Gavin admits. “Sort of the point of getting shitfaced.”

“Here’s what I’m saying,” Ray says, spreading his hands out slowly, like he’s making a presentation. “You don’t want people to fuck with you? Build yourself some superpowers and punch them in the face if they do.” He bumps his shoulder into Gavin’s. “Then come out crime-fighting with me. It sucks being the only rookie.”

Gavin scoffs at the joke. But Ray gives him a look and it’s apparently not a joke... “Ray. Don’t be a silly bugger, I’m not...” Opening his arms wide, he tries to encompass all of himself: the miles of unruly limbs, the lack of coordination, the nose that was just waiting for a fist. “No amount of engineering can fix this.”

The smile Ray gives him is deeply kind and sympathetic, but makes Gavin feels a bit like a kitten that hasn’t managed the art of walking yet. “Gav.”

“Don’t _Gav_ me,” Gavin mutters, hopping off the table. He takes the gloves to the workbench set up in the corner. No reason not to work on them right away.

He fails to not be irritated when Ray trails after him. As his shoulders scrunch and his head drops low, treating his lab coat like a turtle shell, he huffs out a sigh. Ray just puts his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “ _Gav_ ,” he repeats, softer. “Listen, if you’re serious and not interested-- that’s cool. That’s totally fine. _But_ ,” his hand squeezes. “If you’re saying no ‘cause you’re scared or nervous, I want you to know... I got your back. I believe in you. Okay?”

The heat of his body behind Gavin seeps in, and the tension in Gavin’s shoulders melts away like an ice cube in the sun. It’s... a very nice thought, and something he’s not used to. From Geoff and Griffon, sure, it’s a given he’s got them in his corner. But everyone else is a mystery.

Not Ray. That’s a rather lovely surprise.

“I’ll think about it,” Gavin says, and puts his hand over Ray’s, sharing a fond look with him. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it could work.

 

* * *

 

The name comes from Ray and Gavin’s terrible, nigh-illegible signature.

Ray’s just come back from wherever he fucks off to when he’s not out fighting evil or hanging around Gavin’s lab, and Gavin’s spent the afternoon looking over the facts on the latest Narvaroth sighting in Russia. Jack had walked in and handed Gavin the printout himself. Narvaroth’s latest trick was a series of strange explosives scattered across Moscow, each with a different timer. Mogar had been working alone to stop the plot, had to move faster and strategically to each alien bomb, sometimes skipping one to get to another on time.

Apparently he’d made one miscalculation and had to throw himself over one of the bombs set up outside a bistro, taking the full force of the blast before heading to the next.

Gavin had carefully not looked at the photos. He didn’t need that, knew that seeing the details would just make things worse.

So when Ray walks in later, Gavin’s playing in his design suite again, a new blueprint opened up.

“What’s Vav?” Ray asks after watching for a moment.

“What?” Gavin seems to look over at Ray, but his eyes are focused on the blue light sketched through the air between them.

Ray points to the label circling around Gavin as he works. “Project Outline, Vav.”

Gavin turns and squints at where Ray is pointing. “What? Oh.” He snorts and shakes his head. “My terrible handwriting. That’s Gav, not Vav.”

“That is _not_ a G.”

“It is, I just write fast.”

“Huh.” Ray makes his way to Gavin’s desk and props one hip on the corner. “I thought-- nevermind.”

Gavin faces him, putting his hands on his hips. “Ray.”

There’s a sheepish look on Ray’s face as he shrugs and slurps at the straw to the coffee thing in his hands. “Vav. Sounds like a good name. Vigilante Gav, Vav.”

He can’t help but gaping at Ray. “You are officially the _worst_ at names. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

That gets a soft laugh out of Ray. “Sure thing, Vav. What’ve you got?”

Returning to his work, Gavin looks around himself, at the schematics and outlines and plans drifting around him. He reaches out, letting his arm settling into the space he’s drawn a reinforced sleeve. “Nothing yet,” he murmurs. “But we’ll see.”

Ray, across the room, smiles in a quiet, self-satisfied way.

 

* * *

 

He certainly doesn’t intend for it to become _their_ project but it sort of does. It makes a bit of sense; Ray is the one who has field experience, who gave Gavin the idea in the first place. BYTE tries to saddle Gavin with a heavy workload, but Gavin works so fast, gets all his assignments done like the worst kind of star pupil. He still has the free time to spend hours in the design suite, rocketing through iterations of ideas, scrapping each blueprint every time something better occurs to him.

Ray, at one point in the process, watches Gavin scrap an entire lightweight armor set with built-in motion aides and weaponry, and walks up behind him. “Hey,” he says quietly, letting Gavin know he’s there as his chest bumps against Gavin’s back and his hand folds around Gav’s, around the pointer. Directs him, tosses all the alpha models into the trash, then erasing them entirely before opening up a new project file and writing into the label _Vav - Mark I_.

“You can make it work,” Ray tells Gavin, voice close to his ear. When he finally backs away, Gavin’s face feels hot as he nods along.

“Y-yeah. Yeah.” He takes a deep breath and gets back to it.

The idea he develops is support through superior firepower. All the magic and gene therapies and gamma radiation is impressive, but at the end of the day the best bet in a fight is to reduce your target to a fine mist. Also, he can build targeting systems for that, take the burden off himself. It’s a matter of building an armor that he can move in, that helps him move faster to compensate for his lack of time at the gym, and can carry some serious artillery.

It’d probably be easier if he just took one of the Iron Man suits and modified it but... something about that turns his stomach. This is for himself. It’s nothing to do with Geoff and Griffon, and he wants to keep it that way. No matter how much he aches to ship Griffon what he’s drawn up to get her opinion, something stops him; it’s a tight, sick feeling in his gut that he tries not to examine closely, if only because Ray is there, smiling at him, full of equal parts encouragement and sarcasm.

By the time he’s got something feasible to play with, Ray’s learned how Gavin likes his coffee. Gavin is assigning material properties to a very sharp, clean outline when Ray saunters in and hands Gavin his frappe with bonus espresso shots, slinging an arm around Gavin’s shoulder. “Whoa. I like the colors, very sexy.”

Gavin smirks. “Same palette that Captain America uses. Prioritize the blue a little higher and reduce the white, and it’s suddenly all...” He sips his drink, nods at the punch of flavor and caffeine it gives him before setting it aside. “You know, British.”

“You could be his nemesis,” Ray says. “UK Man. The Transatlantic Rocketeer. Englangineer.”

“Stop talking, please,” Gavin laughs. “I’ll take Vav before those.”

His smile is warm when Gavin sees it, and his eyes hold Gavin’s gaze. They are very, very green. Gavin keeps getting startled by that.

“Vav.” He’s closer somehow, and Gavin backs away until his hips hit one of the glass boards. He’s got nowhere to go when Ray’s hands curl around his neck, fingers sliding under his coat, his shirt, fingers hot. He kisses Gavin, soft at first, but as soon as Gavin’s head thumps back against the glass, his mouth opens, tongue flicking out. Gavin makes an aborted noise, smothered by Ray’s kiss. His hands flail for a moment, unsure what to do and too taken off-guard to rally them into what he needs.

It’s when Ray’s palm presses flat to his chest and he hisses at the sting of something hard and rough digging into his skin that Gavin pulls himself together.

He swings and his fist connects with Ray’s temple, sending Ray stumbling back, gasping.

As soon as he’s done it, Gavin scurries forward to hover his hands over Ray. He doesn’t touch though. “Oh balls, I’m so sorry, Ray, you bloody surprised me.”

“Nngh,” Ray groans, rubbing his face. “I... Didn’t expect that.”

Gavin winces. “Sorry, _really_ sorry. I just...” He doesn’t want to have to explain because he’s not sure he knows all the facts himself. Ray is nice and funny and he’s, yeah, fairly nice to look at, and that should be all that matters but...

“Sorry. I’m so sorry, I have to--” Gavin pads away to his sandals and bails out of the room as fast as he can manage without drawing any suspicion. One hand, he tucks under his collar, tracing the line of braided metal hanging around his throat, and finally feels himself start to relax.

 

* * *

 

When Ray skulks into the lab next, Gavin is ready for him and explains right away: “It’s not you, honestly. I know that’s a line, but this time it’s true.”

Ray takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Okay. I mean... It was a bit of a mixed signal, I think? I mean, we had a thing? I thought?” He gestures between them, at the thingness they’d cultivated.

“Ah, well, maybe a bit, yeah.” Gavin looks at his work, cowardly. “That’s my fault, I’m sort of like that.” He was a homebody generally speaking, but when Gavin got out, saw people who he _didn’t_ think of as family members, he often wasn’t sure how... people interacted, but being a giant annoying flirt had worked for him so far. He’d never expected Ray to take it that seriously.

“So, what? You got someone already?” The skepticism in Ray’s voice was plain.

Gavin bit his tongue against the instinctive answer, which he didn’t want to think about. It was pathetic and he knew with the absolute certainty that came from working in close collaboration with someone for weeks that Ray would think he was joking, that he’d let out that bark of sharp laughter before he saw that Gavin wasn’t kidding, and watching him try to cover after would sting even more. And besides... It just didn’t do thinking about.

He couldn’t avoid the urge to reach up and tug at his necklace, pulling the chain around so the metal slides fluidly around his skin. “No, I don’t,” he answers belatedly. “It’s complicated.”

He thinks for a moment Ray is going to argue. Even across the room, through the blue sheen of the design suite and a glass board and Ray’s mask, he can see something burning in Ray’s eyes. It’s gone in the span of a blink though and Ray’s soft, kind smile is back. “So, your life is a Facebook status. Shocking no one.”

Gavin weakly smiles in return. “I really am sorry.”

“I know. So, I just wanted to... clear the air before I headed out. I’m taking a bit of a siesta. I’ll be back, though.”

That’s not unusual. “All right. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Yep. You gonna work on the armor while I’m gone? Cool,” he returns Gavin’s nod. “See you, Vav.”

That stupid nickname more than anything lets Gavin know they’re still okay. “Bye, Ray.”

It should be a fairly calm time for Gavin too, but the universe has other plans for him. Two days into Ray’s little getaway, Gavin gets a ping from one of his machines: the Iron Man suit is active. Geoff is apparently back on his feet.

To say that Gavin is done letting Geoff operate the suit alone without Gavin playing back-up would be a phenomenal understatement. Gavin closes his lab door, shuts down the security, then physically blocks the entrance with three heavy glass boards before pulling on his headset and stepping into the circle of blue light, hands making very precise gestures to pull up the suit feeds.

Geoff’s voice filters into his ear before he even opens that connection. “Lad, you are in the heart of Manhattan, don’t you have better shit to do right now?”

Gavin pulls up GPS info. “Where are you headed?”

Geoff sighs, long-suffering. “Michael called, said he was in Alaska. Then his phone died or something.”

It’s an easy thing to pull up the right information. He wrote a script for this ages ago, and after a few seconds the air fills with tweets and local news and public messages about unexpected storm fronts. Then, it’s just a matter of looking at maps with his own knowledge of how Michael works, how he trails weather systems behind him like footsteps. “You know those islands sticking out into the Bering Sea?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure.”

Gavin rolls his eyes and sends an update to the suit. “Just follow the marker on your HUD.”

“Good lad.”

It takes a while for Geoff to arrive at the marker, and they’re both quiet for the trip. They’re close, the two of them, but when they’re doing this, manning the armor together, the small talk is set aside. It’s something bigger than them both and an unspoken rule about respecting that part of the Iron Man project stretches between them.

Gavin, for his part, pulls up the visual feed from the helmet, seeing the world through Geoff’s eyes for a while. It’s like flying with his feet flat on the ground, and once upon a time the wide sweeping turns and course corrections Geoff made gave him vertigo. That was a long time ago.

“Go low, you’re in commercial airspace and it’s a busy day,” Gavin says quietly.

“I’m keeping an eye out.”

“Still.”

Geoff sighs at him in that exact same way, like Gavin’s helpful advice is a bane of his existence instead of the thing that keeps him alive more often than not. He adjusts altitude, which is all Gavin cares about.

He has time to make himself a cup of tea before stepping up into the suite again. Shitty Twinings is on his tongue as the bright blue skies turn to overcast, then dark, and soon the storm is on the horizon. Gavin sillently deletes the marker; Geoff can find his way fine from there.

They don’t know precisely what’s going on, but soon they have eyes on Michael in the air with Narvaroth over a cluster of islands. They’re like betta fish, circling and circling before colliding with such force, tearing at each other.

“Get me a clean shot,” Geoff says as he flies into the middle of the storm stirred up. He’s got cloud cover up there and Gavin inhales hard through his nose, reminding himself for the thousandth time that lightning was _not_ actually attracted to metal.

It takes infrared filter to see through the clouds, but Gavin watches in solemn silence as Michael chases after Narvaroth, taking wide, expansive swings at him every time Narvaroth gets close to the islands. Curious, Gavin pulls up some location info. “Those are volcanoes, by the way.”

“I don’t know what this shithead wants with some volcanoes but I’m not gonna give him a chance to show us,” Geoff replies.

Like he somehow overheard them, Narvaroth sharply changes direction, aimed like an arrow right for Geoff. Before Gavin’s done sucking in a shocked gasp, Geoff twirls to the right, moving with practiced agility as he peels off. “Not this time, you motherfucker,” Geoff grumbles.

Gavin shuts his eyes for a moment, not wanting to think about worst case scenarios right now.

It’s a three-way chase for a while; Geoff is clearly a distraction; Narvaroth keeps breaking off, trying to dive for the volcanoes with no success. It’s a pattern, and Gavin focuses on it for a while. “You should have a targeting solution shortly.”

Geoff just grunts and tries to keep steady, knowing how the weapon systems function and the type of stability that helps them in their work.

The feed between himself and Geoff has a lag of something like .01 second, and yet Geoff still takes the shot before Gavin even knows the targeting solution’s finished.

It catches Narvaroth as he turns, ready for another dive. He tumbles away, the force of the repulsor blast sending him flying. He hits the water, and that’s it. He’s gone.

Gavin covers his face, hands shaking. Going a while without doing this makes the adrenaline hit him at full force all over again, like the first times. Hearing Geoff tell him softly, “Nice job, Gavin,” helps immeasurably though, so Gavin’s able to look up and watch Geoff descend to one of the islands where Michael is waiting, his hammer propped on his shoulder.

“You break your fucking phone again?” Geoff asks as he lands.

Michael looks tired, but whole. His hair is extra mussed, tangled from the wind and the flying. There’s what looks like dry blood across his cheek, but as usual the wound’s already gone. Michael, whatever he is, heals quickly. “Nah, battery died. Thanks for the assist.”

Geoff taps his helmet. “Thank the kid. Did something to the targeting system so I got my shot.”

Michael’s eyes go wide. “Gavin? Is-- is he still...?”

“First tell me what the hell happened this time with Narvaroth.”

Michael subsides, rubbing his face. He looks at his hand after and frowns. Just so, it begins to rain and he tips his face up into it, then rubs at it again, clearing away some dirt. “It’s like every other time. I was in the area and he showed his ugly fucking mug. We didn’t exactly have a tea party and talk over plans, but I think he wanted to use the power from the volcano to fuel some serious shit. He draws power from the world around him like that.”

Geoff nods. “Like you.”

“Yeah,” Michael admits, then sighs. “Don’t ask, Geoff. I’m still not ready to tell that story.”

“Fine. But when you are...”

Michael’s lips twitched. “You’re there for me when I’m ready to talk?”

“No, but I got first dibs on the story.”

Michael chuckles and nods. “Sure, okay. So...”

“Jesus fuck, hold on.” The suit’s glove covers Gavin’s vision for a moment before the face plate disengages. “Here, he’s got eyes on here. Don’t fucking break it, I swear to fuck.”

“Oh, uh.” Michael sets his hammer down quickly before taking the face plate with a ginger touch. “Do I just--”

Gavin smiles. Michael’s gotten better at not breaking technology and has thus gotten more comfortable with things, but Ramsey Enterprises devices are still well beyond him. So, Gavin touches his ear piece and says, “Hi, Michael.”

“Hey, Gavin. How’s... How’re you?”

“Oh, keeping busy. Outfitting BYTE’s people, doing a few personal projects. What’ve--” He almost asks what Michael’s been up to, as though his entire life hasn’t been dealing with Narvaroth for months now. “How’re you? Really?”

“Man, it’s weird talking to, like... Geoff’s face and hearing you. I’m okay? Sort of wanting a vacation, but what can you do?” He clears his throat, eyes darting from Gavin (or, rather, the eyes of the face plate) to where Geoff is. “So, BYTE, huh? You’re not in Austin...” Michael trails off and looks around, turning in place with a look of quiet concentration on his face.

Under his shirt, Gavin can feel a flush of faint heat and looks down. The pendant he’s been wearing since Michael gave it to him, it’s beginning to glow, bright enough he can see it through his jumper. “New York?”

“Yeah,” Gavin confirms with a smile. “Bloody cold, not my thing, but it’s a temporary situation.”

“Good. You like Austin.”

“I do.” He’s trying not to smile. Michael’s not the most eloquent person Gavin’s ever met, but having conversations like a normal person really brings out the worst of that and Gavin can’t help but find it endearing. “Maybe I’ll see you sometime? When I get back home?”

“Yeah...” Michael looks away, at the ground maybe. “I’ll see you. Stay safe, Gavin.”

“You too,” Gavin murmurs.

They look at each other for a moment, the weird moment stretching. Then Geoff says, “I need that,” in a gruff voice and Michael nearly drops the face plate before handing it back.

“Right! Okay, I gotta... keep moving. I’ll get my phone charged, call you later. Thanks, Geoff a-- and Gavin.” He gives a little wave and takes off. After a second, his hammer shudders and takes off after him.

In his wake, the storms clear and leave behind a gentle rain. Gavin pulls up a monitor and sees it’s a warm shower coming down on Geoff, and the sun starts to peek through the clouds. It’s good rainbow conditions, he notes idly.

“You two are so infuriating sometimes,” Geoff mutters, putting on his face plate again. “I’m going home. It’s dinner time for you, go eat something not made in a microwave.”

“Yes, Mom,” Gavin simpers at him before the voice feed cuts. Geoff is right about food though, and Gavin goes to shut everything down and reactivate security so he can go eat. It’s tedious, but Gavin’s carried through it by a nice cozy feeling in his chest.

Maybe his cup of tea isn’t that bad after all.

 

* * *

 

The thing that troubles him is how tired Michael looked.

He sees it in the reflection of all the glass boards as he works on the Vav design and in his dreams when he finds the time to actually sleep. Michael’s allegedly a god, but he can’t go on forever like this. Maybe his physical pains heal up as soon as he gets them, but Gavin knows him, knows he’s a _person_ and doing nothing but fighting or trying to keep moving to avoid being found takes a toll regardless.

It’s like when Gavin was working on the Mark VII suit for days on end, stopping to eat and sleep, and yet Griffon eventually cut the power to his lab and dragged him out onto Lady Bird Lake. She kept him on that boat all day, until he could shut his eyes and not see schematics and alloys.

Michael needs help. He is the last to ever ask for it, though, and that’s what worries Gavin even more.

It’s at the end of the week when Ray finds his way back to BYTE Tower and walks into Gavin’s lab.

He stops in the doorway, only just far enough into the lab for the door to swish shut behind him. “Whoa.” He stares for a long moment. “The blue really works for you.”

“Thank you,” Gavin says, trying not to slouch or betray how nervous and uncomfortable he is. It’s difficult-- the armor makes everything feel weird, even makes him a few inches taller thanks to the lifts in the boots that hide mechanisms to boost mobility. The whole apparatus feels heavy and unnatural. Gavin recalls vividly the way Geoff talked about the Iron Man suit when they got the design right, how it was a second skin to him.

This would only feel like a second skin if Gavin was in the process of moulting.

“Tell me what you can do, Vav,” Ray commands with a broad grin, pride and excitement obvious. It bolsters Gavin somewhat.

“It’s support artillery, basically,” he explains. “The chassis is lightweight metal alloy that can take a lot of hits and there’s miniaturized weaponry all over.” He holds out an arm and a panel on the bracer slides away to reveal the small missiles tucked inside. “The armor is laced with circuitry that’s capable of computing targeting solutions on the fly. Walk in, wham bam, thank you ma’am, and walk out.”

Ray listens and walks around Gavin, reaching out to touch some of the detail work, the lines of the armor. “You look like you could actually throw a punch now.”

“With almost a half-tonne of force, yes.”

“I’ll definitely not make the mistake of kissing you again then.”

Gavin flinches. “Y-yeah. Anyway. Still needs field testing but, this is it. Vav Armor Mark I.”

Ray pats Gavin’s chest, and he only feels it distantly. “Looking forward to that.”

He’s not so sure. The process feels different like this. One of Gavin’s talents has always been compensating for people’s weaknesses in his designs, but he feel’s too close now. “I-- I think maybe Griffon should--”

“Nah, it’s great,” Ray cuts his off, quick. “You’re going to be amazing, Vav.”

Gavin smiles, trying for Ray’s easy confidence. It feels weird on his face.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long for an opportunity to field test to show up. Ray, as still one of the newest people in BYTE, continues to get the call when something goes bad locally. It helps that he’s a native to NYC and already walked into the job with a pretty good idea of the competing powers and up-and-coming threats. So far, every mission X-Ray has attended to has been a success.

Ray’s in the lab when he gets his summons and looks to Gavin, smiling. “Well. Time to suit up then?”

Gavin’s heart stops. He doesn’t think-- the Vav armor is ready, no doubt, and he’s been in it a few times now to become accustomed to it, but to him it’s so far off from ready, putting it in a live fire situation seems mad as cats.

But Ray is a shining source of optimism and looks at Gavin like he really believes it when he says the design is amazing and genius and whatever. Looking into his green eyes makes Gavin feel like he can do this. Maybe it’s not just a pipedream.

“Yeah,” Gavin says quietly, and watches as Ray leaves to suit up himself.

The Vav armor’s become easy to put on, though it’s still in the same early stage that Geoff’s suit had been, when tools are needed to interlock the seams and seal it. Gavin’s an old hand at manual shit like that though and is armored up in three minutes.

One thing he flat-out lifted from the Iron Man suit is the repulsor tech. He can’t run it for long without an arc reactor, but it’s enough that he can push open the window and lean out. He feels very heavy very suddenly and his heart thumps in his ears, too fast. He’s about the chicken out, to take off this ridiculous thing and go hide in his closet and hyperventilate.

But then he gets a blip on the HUD. X-Ray is on the move.

Taking a breath, Gavin steps out into open air and engages the flight systems, letting them carry him down, following Ray from above in a gradual glide.

It takes some time to get where they need to go. Gavin follows Ray as he heads to the harbor, to the warehouse district. Gavin lands, keeping an eye on Ray through the GPS even as he circles the location. It looks like a regular warehouse to Gavin, nothing special.

Ray goes inside.

Then, the warehouse explodes.

There is a fiery wave that radiates out, taking out the walls and sending the thing collapsing down on itself. Gavin feels the heat even though the armor and instantly wonders if Ray’s survived, what he should do. This is what the Vav suit is for, to _support_ , but standing there just away from the blast zone, he’s frozen with fear and indecision. What the buggering fuck is he supposed to _do_?

The decision is made for him when something rises out of the wreckage. It’s hard to make out what it is, but the fire gleams off it’s long, spindly limbs as the unfold and lift. The warehouse’s roof is collapsed on the thing, but the sharp points of the limbs cut through the sheet metal like butter and the thing rises up. It’s like something from Robot Wars, but as big as a double decker bus and even more ridiculous.

It has headlight eyes that sweep the area. They spot Gavin, and Gavin... he’s too used to seeing the world through others’ eyes, through visual feeds.The fact that he’s seeing this thing and is watching it step on metallic spider legs towards him, it doesn’t speed up the realization that he’s physically there and the monster’s spotted him and he needs to _move_.

Gavin jolts into motion, lifting an arm and firing a repulsor blast. He catches the thing in the knee joint, blasting part of it’s leg right off. For a second, he’s thrilled. In the next, he watches a new leg slide from the main body of the thing and attach to the damaged leg, repairing itself.

“Shit,” Gavin says, and lifts his other arm. The bracer opens and four missile launch out. The kickback is more than he expected and he stumbles back from it. The targeting suite blinks angrily, unhappy with the launch, but manages to correct two of the missiles and send them into the metal spider thing’s face.

The headlights are blown out and a chunk of the face is reduced to slag. That seems to upset the thing. It shudders and shakes for a moment before bending all its legs, dropping it’s heavy central body low to the ground. It flexes, lifting its core, then dropping it, then doing it again.

Gavin figures out what it’s doing and turns to run just as the spider throws itself up, off the ground. It pounces at him, gleaming in the moonlight like a million knives.

He’s knocked to the ground before he can react. The armor slams down, and while Gavin’s safe inside, he rattles a bit from the impact. When he looks up, there are a dozen sharp legs tapping at him, rooting into the grooves and joints of the armor, looking for a weak spot.

Gavin is not sure it won’t find one. His brain goes completely fucking off line, drowning under a wave of panic. He screams, and is horrified to realized the spider thing is metal; no ears. Nothing is around to hear him.

He can’t think straight, just panicked and yelling. The only semi-coherent idea that bounces around in his head is that Griffon should’ve looked over the plans, that she would have fucking _stopped him_ and what the fuck had he been _thinking_ doing this? He was a lab rat, he belonged in a design suite, not in a battle armor.

The spider thing punctures the armor eventually and Gavin shuts his eyes, terrified but also annoyed that he’s going to die with the sound of containment alarms going off in his ears.

He hears the awful sound of metal tearing and feels cold air against his side and just hopes it’s fast.

Then, there is a different sound. A roar.

And something big and green crashes into the metal spider with the force of a train. It’s knock clean off him and when Gavin turns his head to look, he sees green skin clashing with red hair.

Jack. Jack followed him. And he let the Hulk out.

Gavin wishes the spider just fucking killed him. It would be less painful than dying from the absolute, all-encompassing guilt he feels.

Jack, who’d not let the Other Guy through in months, who had been so _proud_ of the control he’d gained, just hulked out to save Gavin from his own stupidity.

Gavin hasn’t cried since his parents’ divorce, but he’s about to break that streak. He’s blinking hard when he’s shaken and Ray shouts, “Come on!” Confused and mortified, Gavin lets Ray pull him to his feet and drag him away.

 

* * *

 

For the record?

He doesn’t cry.

It’s not stoicism or bravery or anything like that. It’s just that when Ray gets him back to BYTE Tower, his armor is so scuffed and mangled and dented out of shape that the unlocks no longer function and Gavin is the one who has to send one of the more steady-handed infirmary staffers to get a laser cutter. He’s the only one who knows how the armor works, where the major power lines are and where the artillery is stored. Gavin has to quietly, calmly walk them through slicing him free from the confines of the armor.

It takes so fucking long. The armor is powerful enough that the laser cannot just glide into the material; it takes multiple attempts to get through it.

He guides them in freeing his head first, and once his face is out of the metal, he can see Ryan standing off to the side, arms crossed. His face is pulled into that deep, contemplative frown that he wears a lot. Gavin doesn’t like being in its crosshairs.

There’s no choice in the matter. He’s stuck for almost an hour before he’s able to wiggle free. When he can, he climbs off the table and bolts from the infirmary as fast as possible. More than anything, he wants to be gone. The moment he ducks into his quarters, he feels a pang of displacement and homesickness like a punch in the stomach, knocking the air out of him. He’s stuck in fucking BYTE Tower and his project was a catastrophe and Jack’s _days without going green counter_ just got reset.

All because of him.

He doesn’t make it to the bed; he just sinks down onto the floor and curls up, his head against his knees. For now, he just reminds himself how to breathe.

The door opens; Gavin doesn’t look up.

“Gavin,” Ray calls faintly, voice choked. “ _Gavin_.”

Gavin shakes his head. He cannot look at him. He’s afraid of what he’ll see. Ray could be hurt, and Gavin would be to blame. Ray could just be _disappointed_ , and that’s... more than he can handle.

When he talks, it’s with all the force of a feather, but Gavin feels it like a blade in the ribs: “I thought you had my back.” He tsks ruefully. “As soon as I saw you were following, I should have sent you back.”

That makes Gavin look up. “You-- it was your idea! This-- fucking Christ, this was all your idiotic plan!”

Ray’s face doesn’t look warm anymore. There’s a hardness to his features that;s barely recognizable. He looks like an entirely different person, someone Gavin doesn’t know. “Gavin. Dude. Come on.”

“You-- you said suit up! You said I should build a superhero! You helped!”

Ray shakes his head. “I asked if it was possible, yeah, but you... Christ, Gav, come on. You’re the fucking design savant. If anyone had to know what would or wouldn’t work, it was you. And you...” Ray shrugged his shoulders, looking down, and yes, _that_ was disappointment. “I wish I knew to stop you. But I-- after how well my suit came out, I thought you knew what you were doing.”

“But... Ray, you--”

“Fuck, Gavin, _stop_.”

Gavin reels back like he’s been struck.

Ray’s shoulders are slumped, and while he flicks his gaze to Gavin a few times, it’s like he can’t look at him. It turns Gavin’s stomach, that his friend can’t even meet his eyes anymore. “Don’t, Gavin. Just don’t. It’s... bad enough with Dr. Pattillo. Don’t make it worse.”

He can’t see from the sudden rush of stinging that hits his eyes. Gavin’s hand is unsteady as he presses it over them, wiping away dampness. He has never felt like this, like something so small and foolish. He wants someone, anyone to tell him it’s going to be fine, that he did all he could.

Instead, he has Ray. Who doesn’t say anything of the sort.

“Listen, I’ve got to go. Sorola wants a full debrief and then I’m going to help Captain America bring the Hulk back in. I’ll...” _See you_ , he doesn’t say. “Stay here,” he does say, like Gavin’s a burden now that needs to sit put before he causes any more damage. Beyond that, the only thing Gavin hears is his footsteps and the door closing as he leaves.

Then, Gavin’s left alone as he starts to shake apart.


	8. the comedy of distance

Another week, another fucking date with Narvaroth.

Michael had tried the remote locations idea for a while. Narvaroth still stirred up trouble in the Amazon basin, in fucking Death Valley, and around the Bering Sea. The only difference in those places was how long it took for Geoff to fly in to play back-up.

So, to hell with it. Michael went to Asia to see some sights he’d not yet gotten around to. Might as well.

Michael is taking in the majesty of Mount Fuji when he feels Narvaroth next. It’s a tingle at the back of his head that makes him lower his camera, sighing. He’s getting tired of this. It’s a constant cycle of attack and retaliation, and Michael grew up with that, spent much of his life spinning in that wheel.

And what did it get him but exile and a big shot of humility injected right in the arm.

He abandons his calm, relaxing afternoon to reach out a hand, summoning his hammer, before making a running leap into the air. He skips off the ground and up into the air, pointing himself towards that feeling of resonance and homesickness that means Narvaroth is nearby.

There’s a phone in his pocket, a sturdy piece of hardware that can withstand being in his presence for an extended time. He takes it out of his pocket, taps the ornate R.E. symbol and makes a fast call to essentially the only person he keeps in touch with.

Slowing down as he feels himself getting close, he ends up following the line of the bullet train, not far from Fuji itself. He’s relieved that Narvaroth’s not doing laps around the mountain. Maybe he’s bored of giant landmarks.

Michael actually catches up to his nemesis as the god of guile and illusion lounges in the air above a bridge. “Narvaroth!” Michael screams across the space between them.

Narvaroth’s grin is visible, bright and gleaming even from a distance. “Mogar! Hello there, brother! How’s the Japanese countryside treating you?”

“Give it a rest, asshole,” Michael growls and starts twirling his hammer, stirring up the air around them. It’s a clear, beautiful day that quickly gives way to dark clouds.

Narvaroth tips his head back and sticks out his tongue as the rain begins to come down. “More sun showers, huh? I miss the typhoons, man. Do you remember how hard it was for me to keep up with you? How I’d hang onto your cloak to not blow away?”

Michael just keeps winding up. They aren’t here to reminisce, and knows it’s just a distraction. His eyes scan the area around him, looking for potential targets, but it’s just rolling hills and power lines and the bridge.

“Mogar.” Narvaroth’s fist clenches. “ _MOGAR_!”

“Shut up, Narvaroth,” Michael fires back. If he wants Michael’s attention, he can have it. There’s a rumble in the air, and Michael pulls down the hot prickly energy and directs it right at Narvaroth. A tremendous lightning bolt flashes down at him.

Narvaroth lifts a hand into the bolt and when it strikes him... well, he _doesn’t_ go flying in a mayday dive from the force of the hit. It hits and just absorbs into Narvaroth’s arm, sparks skipping out of him.

As Michael gapes in shock, Narvaroth cackles. “Your _face_! What’s the matter, Mogar? Getting complacent?” He shakes out his arm, wiggling his fingers like they’re tingling. “These mortals not _demanding_ enough of you?”

“How the fuck did you do that?”

“You’re not the only one with friends who can make fun toys,” he says in a bright voice. “Check this out.” He flings out a his other hand towards the ground and with the flick of his wrist a ball of heat and electricity fires out, soaring down.

Michael wants to figure out how this could happen. Even back home, before their exile, when they were at the height of their power, Narvaroth could not channel Mogar’s power. No one could match the sheer magnitude of it. It was what made him so renowned and infamous with their people.

And neither of them, Michael or Narvaroth, were at their heights anymore. Seeing his lightning harnessed and tossed around with the careful finesse Narvaroth was known for was... not good. Very not good.

But Michael doesn’t have time to examine any of that closer. Narvaroth’s lightning ball hits the bridge like a bomb and a chunk of the thing turns to smoulders.

“Oh! Do you hear that?” Narvaroth crows gleefully. “I mean, I could be wrong, but I think that’s the train!”

“Shit,” Michael mutters, turning to look. There is something moving fast along the tracks, coming right for them. “ _Fuck_ , you piece of _shit!_ ” He wings his hammer at Narvaroth, a blind toss as he dives for the damaged bridge.

He hears the laughter as he’s followed, but can’t pay attention. The metal rails have been knocked loose and hang down, pointed towards the water. He has to move fast.

He flies under one, puts his back to it so it lies against his spine, then pushes up with all his might. Slowly, the metal starts to straighten, fast enough that he just might have time for this repair. It’s a bit more than he’s ready for; Michael spent a few years living in New Jersey, learned the electrician trade mostly to get a feel for Earth’s technological level. The _Shinkansen_ is out of his league. Hopefully just lining up the rails will keep it from careening off into the lake.

It gets difficult when Narvaroth lands on the metal he’s lifting. Michael grits his teeth and pushes up harder.

Because he’s a little shit, Narvaroth starts taunting him. “Man, if the king could see you now,” he says, affecting a rueful tone. “One of his own blood, fighting to do some construction. Unable to put me-- me!-- in my place.” He clicks his tongue. “You know, it’s not that you _can’t_ do it.”

“Shut up,” Michael grits out.

“Make me. No, seriously, _make me_. You could!” Narvaroth fucking jumps up and down on the rail. “It’s like you’re fucking neutering yourself! Kick out the jams, Mogar. Get _mad_! Fry my ass!”

He knew that was the point to all of this. Ever since Narvaroth found him again, years into his exile, he’d just wanted Michael to be the avatar of electric fury again. When Michael refused, it turned into this, a repetitive, infuriating battle to make him break.

So far, Michael has kept his cool.

It’s no easy task.

“How--” He almost has the rail back in place, even with Narvaroth doing goddamn jumping jacks on it. “How did you harness the lightning?”

“Oh, you know,” Narvaroth says lightly. “I met this boy, bright young thing, as close as humans get to our artisans. You know how mortals are; you give them an ounce of your attention and they’ll do _anything_ for you.”

He wants to know more, to find out who Narvaroth had gotten close to and how, but he’s out of time. He can feel the vibrations of the train approaching, and when Narvaroth flies off, Michael knows it has to be right there.

There’s another rail, still ruined. Reaching out, Michael calls his hammer and swings it, smashing clean through the second rail so it falls free. He catches it and hoists it up, above his head, holding it in the air about where it needs to be.

The train roars past, and Michael keeps it on track. It hurts, and his fingers are crushed in the process, but the one upside is the _Shinkansen’s_ called a bullet train for a reason: it’s fast, and soon Michael is able to let go of the rail to instead cradle his hands to his chest, hissing in pain. The bones already start to knit back together, wounds healing. The pain fades and leaves only a weariness in its wake. Fuck, but Michael is tired of this bullshit.

When he flies out from under the bridge, he’s just in time to see Geoff chasing Narvaroth away. It’s an annoyingly familiar sight by now.

With Narvaroth gone, there’s still work to do. Between the two of them, they fix the railing properly with Michael holding the metal in place as Geoff fires careful, precise beams at the joints, melding them back together. They finish in time to back away and watch another train zoom by.

Geoff lands at the lakeside and Michael follows. The front of the helmet flips up to reveal Geoff’s face. “Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“I was in the middle of a fucking boring meeting in Kyoto when I got your call. Nothing like imminent superheroing to get you out of a business meeting.”

Michael grins faintly. “Glad to help. How’s things?”

“Could be better,” Geoff says, and it’s weird that this is what the two of them do now. Once upon a time, Michael played catch-up with Geoff over steak dinners or beers. Now it’s always after one of these incidents. It keeps them in touch better, but the circumstances suck. “I’ve been away from home a while, actually. Missed some things.” He starts to go on, then stops, shaking his head. “Family drama, you know.”

“Oh, I do,” Michael assures him. He knows that kind of thing very well. “How is... everyone?”

“Griffon’s fine. Gavin, though...” Geoff’s lips press together. “I’m not sure about him. Something went down at BYTE but no one knows what?”

Michael feels a cold grip his chest. “Is he hurt?”

“Not...” It’s strange to see Geoff try to rub the back of his neck in the full suit, but he doesn’t it anyway, the metal clinking together loudly. “Listen. You wanna do me a solid? I have another couple days of shit to handle out here. Why don’t you go and check on Griffon and Gavin for me?”

“What, like... New York and Austin? No...” Michael looks away, his mind reaching out for the pendant he’s left in Gavin’s care. It’s not in New York anymore, that’s for sure. “Gavin’s back in Austin? Why?”

Geoff breaths hard out his nose. “Like I said. Go check on them. Then, you tell me.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a long way from Japan to Austin, even for a god.

Which is a funny word for it, Michael thinks. The title followed him to Earth, where it meant nothing but the fact he was unkillable. It’s been slung at him so many times now, accepted by the humans as readily as with his own people back on his world, it’s impossible to get the term to unstick. In a way, it’s wormed into him, filling up an empty space that his fall from glory had created. As stupid as it is, and Michael knows it’s pretty stupid, having enough people call him a god in the wake of his good deeds helps. It’s a second chance to honor the title.

Anyway. Long flight.

The air above Austin is clear and blue as ever. Even as tired as he is from flying for hours and dealing with Narvaroth, Michael takes the time to trace a lazy spiral through the sky. The sunset that had settled over the city changes, the color bleeding red and purple and gold into the clouds as a sudden cold front descends from nowhere. There’s a low rumble of thunder, closer to a pur than anything actually menacing.

It’s a calling card of sorts.

Satisfied with the drizzle that begins to fall on Austin, Michael does one last lap before heading toward the ranch house just outside the city. By the time he touches down, his curls hang down on his forehead, damp. He likes to feel at home when he visits the Ramsey house, and stirring up some weather always helps.

Griffon’s waiting for him on the porch, a parasol set against her shoulder. “Hello there, stranger,” she greets, holding out an arm.

He shuffles forward to accept the hug. “Hello, Griffon. Geoff tell you I was coming?”

“That and the sky. It’s very pretty. You’d be a godsend in a drought.”

“I try to be,” He admits. “Summer’s hell on some countries.”

She smiles and pats his cheek. “Nice work.” Her gaze drifts down and she sucks in a breath through her teeth. She tugs his jacket aside, looking at the shirt of mail that the Ramseys had given him. “You look like you need some maintenance done.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t noticed, but some of the links have broken, leaving gaps where someone could get at him. “Yeah. Sorry. Been a rough few months.”

“So I’ve heard.” She sighs. “Well, I won’t keep you. I know who you’re here to see.”

Michael’s ears burn. “I don’t--”

“Just be... careful,” she goes on, softer now. The warmth in her eyes fades. “Gav’s not been himself since he came back from New York.”

“Geoff said something about that. What happened?”

She shakes her head. “I only know parts of it. Not what shook him up so bad. Maybe he’ll talk to you.”

The idea that Gavin Ramsey-Free would open up to Michael before he would his own family is ridiculous to him, but the solemn look in Griffon’s eyes makes him keep that to himself. He says nothing more as she lets him in and points him towards the design lab.

Michael knows the way. He’s been down in the Ramseys’ labs often enough. His trips to the ranch house just seem like an interconnected series of lab visits, really, with some alcohol, good food, and sleeping mixed in. From the first time he showed up, carrying the tin can that was the early Iron Man suit back to Austin after almost killing Gavin’s not-quite-father figure, to now-- it’s always been the damn labs. The entire family was made of workaholics and Gavin was arguably the worst of the three.

The lab’s grown since the last time he was here, but it’s all familiar. Electronics whir unhappily at his presence as he steps in: walls of servers, rendering hardware, holographic displays, about twenty different monitors suspended from the ceiling, and plenty of electric glass boards. Everything in the room seems to be just waiting for Michael’s temper to spike and send a piece of expensive equipment up in sparks.

A year ago, Michael would have said he had no chance of losing control like that. But Narvaroth’s taken a toll on his calm. No number of West Coast yoga classes could counter that.

“Gavin? Gav, are you in?” Michael calls out when he can’t find the designer. “Hey, Gav!”

His search ends quickly when his call is answered by a resounding crash and a high-pitched yelp. Michael doesn’t think before breaking into a run towards the source, past a row of servers and around the launch pad for the suit.

He finds Gavin standing amid the remains of one of his glass boards. It’s in shattered pieces around him, the writing and blueprints that had adorned the glass flickering in and out, some chunks fading entirely into static.

Gavin himself digs his hands into his hair, expression shaken as he looks at the mess surrounding him. “Bloody hell, m-make a noise next time, will you?” he mutters irritably.

“Where the fuck are your shoes, you idiot?” Michael snaps as he spots Gavin’s bare feet. He knows that’s a thing Gavin always does, and Michael’s never had any problem with it outside how distracting it is, but before he’d not seen Gavin barefoot in a field of broken glass.

Gavin winces. “Ah, yanno... Can you get me a broom?”

“Hold on.” His boots crunch over the glass as he gingerly steps in close to Gavin. “Sorry. You’ll be able to recall your project on another board, right?” It’s so easy to put his hands on Gavin’s waist and lift him straight up, out of the danger zone.

Gavin braces himself on Michael’s shoulders, peering down at the gap between his toes and the floor as he’s carried to safety. “Nah, no point. I was just... Thanks,” he murmurs when he’s set down. His hand slides down and a finger catches instantly in one of the gashes of his armor. “Oh. You’ve botched it again. How do you keep managing to do that?”

“Guess,” Michael says. “Narvaroth cuts right through it.”

“Let’s see it then, arm up,” Gavin orders, pulling the jacket off Michael’s shoulders. When he obliges, showing the damage, Gavin leans in close to look. His fingers are warm as he prods at the weak points, working through them easily to poke Michael’s skin beneath. “Interesting. What’s he using?”

Lately, Michael’s own power, but that’s not something he wants to talk about. “Besides hitting me so many times it’s just a matter of fatigue? This rapier of his. Weapon of choice.”

Gavin nods. “That’ll do it. You can’t slash into this material, but it can be sort of punctured and pulled, then it comes apart like a rip in cloth.” He backs away, scratching at the stubble along his chin. “I think maybe..” Michael watches as the enthusiasm in his eyes just... dies out. Gavin tucks his hands into the deep pockets of his lab coat, hunching his shoulders. “I’ve got something down in the fabrication labs we’ll try. New material, meant for another project but--” He shook his head hard, turning and walking away. “I’m not going to need it.”

“What happened?” The thing Geoff and Griffon were talking about is becoming obvious. He’s been in the lab for five minutes and Gavin’s yet to throw any of his new discoveries at him. That he’s _stopped_ talking about his work twice doesn’t escape Michael’s notice. It’s strange and not like him at all. “What were you working on?”

“Nothing. Nothing worthwhile,” Gavin says quietly, sitting at his desk. “Give me a mo’ and I’ll get your armor schematic to the lab, see what we can come up with in the short term.”

“What was it? Something for the Iron Man project?”

For a moment, Gavin just works at the computer, eyes kept close on the screen and nowhere else.

Something about this is wrong, and Michael doesn’t like it. There’s a tension to the silence between them that he’s never felt before. Something’s changed while he’s been gone and he just doesn’t know what it is.

“Gavin,” he prompts carefully.

“It was a stupid idea,” Gavin says quickly. “We tried it. It didn’t work.” The smile he offers is twisted all wrong, uncanny and unsettling in its fakeness. “Even I have off days, right?”

What the _fuck_. Michael tries not to gape at Gavin but what the fuck. Michael has known Gavin for quite a while now. The man’s designs have not always been the sort of resounding successes that the Iron Man suit is, but Michael has never seen Gavin act like one of his designs was a failure. There was always something to learn, a way to improve, or at the very least the reason the thing wouldn’t work was interesting.

Back around when they first met, when they both were cautious of each other, Michael had mentioned how once he set his hammer down, nothing could lift it but him. Taking that as a challenge, Gavin spent Michael’s entire stay with them in the labs, trying to build a mechanism to pick it up. By the end of it, about seven different machines were trashed and Griffon had cursed a blue streak at the state of the workshop, but Gavin was pleased. There were no outright failures to Gavin Ramsey-Free.

Until today, apparently.

While Gavin gets things squared away, Michael edges back to the shattered board, taking a second look. It’s hard to resolve the faded lines into anything he can understand, the board is so utterly ruined. There is, however, a corner chuck that had skidded off to the side, and on it was a label.

_Vav Mark I._

It doesn’t ring any bells, but Gavin was happy to let it die with the board, and that just wasn’t like him.

Michael wanders back over and finds Gavin sitting at the desk, looking at his hands. It’s so disturbing to see him like this. Even though he needed to for everyone’s safety, Michael suddenly wishes he hadn’t been gone for so long. He wants to find the moment that did this to Gavin, took the light out of his sea-glass eyes, find what caused it, and hit that mysterious thing with his hammer.

“Did you get any leads on Narvaroth? Through the suit info?” Michael asks, hoping for a safe topic.

“Oh. No. It’s weird.” Gavin’s face pulls tight, brow deeply furrowed. “The suit picked up plenty of energy from Narvaroth and it’s a really unique signature that we should be able to track, but I’ve not managed it. It’s Jack’s software, so he’s reviewing the data himself for me.” He laughs, little more than a stuttered exhale. “He’ll likely figure it out fine. Probably just my user error.”

Michael cannot take this. He feels like there’s a vice closing around his windpipe. “Gav, when was the last time you were out of the lab?”

“I, um. I was just at BYTE Tower, working with their new recruit.”

“But you were in the labs then too, right?” When Gavin slowly nods, Michael curses under his breath. “Okay. No. This isn’t going on.”

“Michael, what--” Gavin squawks in surprise as Michael rounds the desk and without any further discussion picks Gavin up out of his chair. He lifts him like always, sweeping up his knees and holding him with an arm across the back, keeping Gavin tucked to his chest. “ _Mi_ chael, what are you doing?”

“Hold on,” Michael tells him and kicks off the ground. When he approaches the launch pad in the center of the room, the ceiling opens up on its own. He flies up, out of it and into the open air, taking things nice and easy.

“I’m not wearing any shoes!”

“Well, thankfully we’re not walking, huh? I’ve got you, Gav, it’s okay.” There’s a light rain falling over Austin, and Michael flies them away, out from under it in mere seconds, conscious of Gavin’s relative frailty and, more specifically, his bare feet.

Michael feels them tuck up against his side as Gavin curls up into him while he flies. Gavin's face is ducked down, close to Michael’s skin, lab coat around his ears. Folding himself up like that, Gavin settles in without complaint. That’s how Michael knows he’s all right; the Ramseys have spoiled Gavin on creature comforts, and when he’s not happy with his situation, everyone fucking hears about it.

“So,” Michael proposes, speaking over the rush of wind with ease as they pass out of Texas. “Where do you wanna go? I can probably get us to NOLA in no time.”

Gavin’s mouth is close to Michael’s ear, so Michael can hear his scoff. “I am not going to New Orleans without shoes.”

Damn, but he’s fixated on that. Michael is pretty sure he could _find_ Gavin some shoes. “Have you been, though?”

There’s a hint of hesitation before Gavin says, “No. I keep meaning to, but it’s been a nightmare since we went public. I can’t go out anywhere without a bloody entourage of security personnel.”

Yeah, Michael knew about that. Michael has known the Ramseys for a while now, since before the project went public, and had watched as Gavin slowly withdrew from the world. He’d been so animated and outgoing before, it was like watching an outdoor cat being kept inside; it just wasn’t quite right.

“You can come out with m-- us.” He winces at his own stutter, the slip of the tongue. “When we’re around.”

He wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but Gavin manages to curl in closer to him. It’s a feat of geometry, how his long limbs bend like that. “If... If I’ve learned anything in the past week, it’s that I’m best off in the labs.”

He’s simply too close to turn his head and stare incredulously at Gavin. “What makes you say that?”

“Can we get down? It’s cold up here.”

They’re above water, somewhere off the coast of Louisiana or Mississippi, so Michael veers in towards land. Eventually, he finds a beach with no one in sight and touches down, jogging a bit as he slows, the inertia carrying them across the sand.

“Good?”

Gavin nods, finally emerging from his almost-fetal curl. His cheeks are pink from the flight and his hair is blown back at an odd angle, but otherwise he’s no worse for wear. “Yeah.” He gives Michael a look, his eyes dark. “Michael?”

Michael swallows thickly. “Yeah?”

Gavin kicks his legs pointedly.

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Setting him down, he backs off, giving Gavin a bit of space.

Gavin takes that space and expands it; he just starts walking, down to the water. As the high tide sweeps in, he pauses to roll up his jeans and tuck the hem of his lab coat into his belt. That done, he steps into the water’s grasp, the foam washing over his feet.

“S’nice out.”

“Yeah. Out’s pretty nice,” Michael comments wryly. “You should visit more often.”

“I have work.”

“Still.” Still, clearly Gavin needs to be dragged out of the labs. For as long as Michael’s known him, Gavin’s had the dark tan of a man who practically worships the sun. Now, the moonlight practically glares off his skin. “You could go to the beach more often. You and the family.”

“Austin’s a bit land-locked.”

“You have Geoff. Abuse the Iron Man suit a bit.”

“Geoff can’t carry both Griffon and me _and_ steer properly.”

“I am about ten seconds from throwing you into the middle of the Gulf,” Michael mutters, shooting Gavin a smirk when he gets a look of surprise.

“God, don’t joke about that. How would you explain that to Griffon, that you lost me at sea?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t lose you.”

“Would so!”

“Gavin, I wouldn’t lose you,” he says again, because there’s an.... edge to Gavin’s voice, something strangled about the words. It’s all a joke, but there’s something just underneath the top layer of mirth, something dark. For about the twentieth time that night, Michael wonders what the hell he missed when he was gone. “Remember?” He taps Gavin’s chest lightly.

That gets the first shadow of a smile from Gavin. He tugs on the chain and pulls the pendant out. “Oh. Right. I keep forgetting...” It tangles in his fingers.

“You can use it,” Michael says, just above a whisper. “If you need help, to call.”

Gavin’s eyes trace over the prismatic chunk in his hand. “You’ve been talking to my family.”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Gavin. What happened in New York?”

He’s quiet again, just turning the pendant over and over between his fingers. “Michael. Have you ever...” His fist tightens, hard enough that Michael wants to grab it, unfold his fingers before he drives the pendant into his skin. “Screwed up? Not like a...” He rubs his mouth.

“Yeah,” Michael breathes, and thinks that Geoff’s going to be mad; he promised this story to him first. “Do you know what this is?” Michael asks, nodding to Gavin’s fist.

“No. I tried to run it through one of Griffon’s analysis machines, but it didn’t know.”

“It’s why I’m here. It’s a reminder of what I did to get exiled. It’s a piece of something called the Bifrost.”

Gavin’s brow knits together. “So... not a chunk of opal then?”

Michael chuckles. “No. Not an opal. Where I came from, it was a bridge between realms, maintained by the royal family. It was our job to keep it functional and open and safe.”

“Our?” His eyes pop wide. “When you say _our_...?”

“Yep.” He holds up a hand, waves a sardonic hello. “My father was the king. I was the third son, though. Way down the line of succession.”

Gavin laughs, slightly manic. “Oh, third born prince, that’s fine. That’s-- that’s no big deal.”

“Well, I’m not anymore anyway,” he snaps, then immediately subsides. “Sorry. But I’m not. That’s the point.”

Gavin’s nervous giggles fade away. “Right, right. So. Bifrost. Your responsibility. Uh.” He looks at the glittering chunk in his hand, comprehension dawning. “What happened?”

Michael presses his lips together. He’s going to tell the story, and it shouldn’t still sting after all the time he’s spent on Earth. His first years were full of furious anger at his exile. Eventually he got past it, settled in, learned. But finally talking about it is like reopening an old wound that had scarred over years ago.

“Back home, it was me and an old friend. We were the gatekeepers. Anyone got into our realm, we fucking _destroyed_ them. But that was-- we didn’t _go out_. We could only hit them if they crossed into our borders,” Michael explains.

“Why?”

“You know that phrase humans have? _The nuclear option?_ ”

“Oh,” Gavin says in a small voice.

“Yeah.” Michael shrugs, kicking the sand a little. “So, we do our job for a long time. Then, my friend, he gets this _idea_. There’s an army hanging out right outside our territory, building up, waiting to strike. So, he says, why should we wait? They’re _right there_. We go in, we smash the Bifrost so they can’t get back to their realm, and take them out.” Even as he says it, he winces. Fuck, but he was _stupid_ back then.

“So,” he continues, “we roll in and I start going to town on the bridge. But, well, the royal family feels it when the Bifrost is under attack.”

“I can’t imagine they were thrilled,” Gavin offers weakly.

“No kidding. King himself shows up to deal with us. I wasn’t thinking, didn’t realize that I was fucking dooming an entire realm by cutting them off.” With that in mind, it feels like he got off easy. “So I’m disowned, and my buddy and I kicked into this in-between place between realms. Eventually...” He spread out his hands, encompassing everything around them. “Here I am.”

“But...” Gavin bites his lip. “I mean, that wasn’t your fault, it was the other guy.”

“No,” Michael sighs. “I mean, that’d be nice if I could get away with that excuse, but I knew him, knew he was a manipulative little shit who didn’t give a damn about anything but making a mess.”

He sees the moment that all the puzzle pieces slot into place for Gavin. “Your buddy. He’s...”

“Narvaroth. Yeah.”

“That’s why he’s always looking to wreck your day.”

“Uh huh.”

“Jesus Christ...” Gavin puts his hands over his face. “And... and you know where I am because this is...”

“The thing I was meant to protect. I fucked up then.” Michael shrugs his hands into his pockets. “I won’t again.”

Gavin swallows audibly and it’s dark enough that when he ducks his head, Michael can’t see his expression. He wants to just grab him and make him _look_ at him, but...

But shit like that is what Narvaroth would want from him. So Michael keeps his hands tucked away and waits.

“Thanks,” Gavin manages eventually. “For telling me. Though...” He smiles. “Geoff’s gonna be so pissed you didn’t tell him first.”

“I won’t say anything if you don’t.” He’s gotten Gavin to smile and out of the lab. Not a bad show. By now, it’s late and he can see how Gavin’s shifting from foot to foot, rubbing the bare bit of skin together. It doesn’t help that they’ve stayed too long; clouds are settling in above them and a cold front is moving in, the weather following Michael.

A mist of rain begins to come down, and Gavin looks up at it, then arches an eyebrow at Michael.

Michael snorts. “Sorry. Can’t help it.” He steps into Gavin’s space and bends down to sweep him back up across his arms.

“You have got to stop with this,” Gavin says, laughing. But his arms go around Michael’s neck and he holds on tight as Michael flies him home.

 

* * *

 

He takes a chance, trusting that Narvaroth isn’t going to make trouble again so soon after his little game with the bullet train, and crashes at the ranch house overnight. He feels worn out from the day and having a bed to sleep in at a place that’s as close to a safe place as he’s ever found, it does him a lot of good.

Feeling the call of the Bifrost right across the hall, so nearby, that helps him too. It settles something in him and he sleeps harder than he has in months.

He wakes up, and Griffon has cinnamon rolls and another hug for him. She wraps him up in a tight embrace and whispers, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“He ate breakfast and said more than five words to me. That’s more than I’ve gotten from him in days.” She kisses his cheek before foisting a cinnamon roll the size of his head off on him. “Once again, you do good work.”

“Hey, anytime...” He stands in the kitchen, has a roll and a tall glass of extra-pulpy orange juice. It’s dim, even as the sun should be shining in. Griffon goes to the curtains and pulls them aside, then squints into the overcast day. She tips Michael a look, about the same as the one Gavin uses on him when he’s screwed up the weather.

“Sorry.”

“I’m sure.” She baps him upside the head, which is something that’s never happened to him. No one has ever bapped the god of rage and lightning. “Gavin’s getting your new armor ready downstairs.”

“We need to lock him out of his lab sometime. Just for twenty-four hours.”

She smirks. “What, and then watch how long it takes him to construct something to break in with? Nah. Go on, then.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and feels out for where Gavin is. It’s not often that he focuses on the Bifrost chunk and where it is, because that’s creepy shit, but Michael feels it always like a tickle along his spine. And in the ranch house, he’s got no problem using it to find where Gavin’s sequestered himself.

He only needs to follow the noise. The flavor of the week is rock, and when Michael finds Gavin, he’s in the fabrication lab with “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” on the speakers. He bops along to the music, maybe not with the same enthusiastic energy that Michael would have expected from him before New York did its number on him, but it’s still a good sight.

“Oi, you’re wearing a shirt!” Gavin says in lieu of an actual greeting. “Take it off, you need to try this on.”

“Bossy,” Michael remarks idly. “If you put a dollar bill in my pants, I swear...”

Gavin smiles. “Oh, I’d give you a fiver at least. Maybe a tenner.”

He’s not going to dignify that with a response. “You’re looking a lot better.”

The smile fades, but Gavin doesn’t look despondent anymore, only thoughtful. “Yeah. I am. Mostly thanks to you, I admit.”

“I told you, you need to get out sometimes.”

“I mean-- what we talked about.” Gavin pulls a piece of armor from one of the machines and brings it over. Michael takes his shirt off, setting it aside, and lets Gavin put the new contraption on him. It slides over his head and seals along his sides. “It was good to hear.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. You-- what you did was... I mean, obviously I can’t really wrap my head around it, not being from your world or realm or what have you. But you fucked up and instead of being a sorry sod like me, you’re just... being better.” His nimble hands finish their work and Gavin looks up at Michael. “I’m not going to say you’ve _inspired_ me, ‘cause that’ll just go to your head--”

“No, no, it’s cool,” Michael agrees. “I’m pretty fucking great, let’s be real.”

Gavin punches his arm before backing away. “Okay. Links are a whole new alloy, and we’re going for a looser design. It still won’t be cut and this way with the extra give, I think it’ll resist rapiers and stray nails much better. How’s it fit?”

Michael tests it out, stretching his arms above his head, behind his back, arching this way and that, miming a hammer swing. It’s all fluid. “Beautiful. Thank you.”

“Well, I still need to put a coat of paint on it,” Gavin says, then makes a beckoning gesture with his fingers.

Michael, though, thinks about the clock. “How long will that take?”

“Application’s a few hours, then it just dries and you’re good.”

Oh. He smoothes a hand down the armor, feeling the intricate chainmail effect that’s too small for his eyes to see. “No, that’s okay. I like the metallic look, it’s nice.”

“I haven’t put the weather coat on!”

“It’s fine, Gavin.”

Gavin stills and lets his arms fall. “You’re worried. About Narvaroth.”

There’s no point in denying it, especially now that Gavin knows the full story. “If he comes here,” Michael murmurs, meeting Gavin’s eyes, appealing to him, “he’ll figure things out. He’ll target you. He wants me to be mad, he wants me to be all... rageful and shit.” He taps one finger against Gavin’s chest. “He sees this? And puts you in danger because of it?”

Gavin’s hand closes around Michael’s and gently pushes it away. “All right. I get it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“S’not your fault. I just wish you could, yanno. Make a nuisance of yourself for more than a day’s time.” He turns away, powering down some equipment. “Besides, you said you’d help me get out some more.”

“I will,” Michael promises instantly. “I just have to deal with Narvaroth first. Then I’ll take you wherever you like. Better than flying first class.”

Gavin nods, and seems to steel himself before facing Michael again. “Yeah. And you still owe Geoff that story. Think on it; try to come up with a way to tell it without making yourself look like a twit.”

He snorts. “You’re such an asshole.”

“True, but I make up for it with fun toys,” Gavin replies easily, tugging the front of Michael’s mail shirt. “Now go on. Make sure you actually say goodbye to Griffon before you piss off.”

That’s his cue to leave. It sucks that he has to go, but Gavin seems to understand, and that does wonders. He should go.

Watching his long fingers coax the machinery back to sleep, the curve of his jaw, the way his hair falls around his ear, makes Michael pause. The pull he feels towards Gavin has nothing to do with the Bifrost. He wants to take the opportunity while it’s still there to step in and spin the man around and kiss him. And he’s pretty sure it’d go well too, not because it’d be simple to just pick up the designer and haul him in, but because Michael thinks Gavin might go for it. And this early in the day, Michael thinks Gavin would taste like coffee and cinnamon sugar.

But he just told Gavin he can’t even wait a few hours for his new armor to be finished. To kiss him now seems cruel.

So Michael sees his cue to leave and he takes it, thinking that next time he sees Narvaroth, he’s going to fucking wreck that asshole.


	9. the beast and dragon, adorned

He has to hand it to Mogar: it takes a long-ass time to really chip away at that ivory pedestal he’s taken to standing on.

Narvaroth remembers the good old days, when they were unstoppable forces of nature, so strong they earned their titles as gods. Everyone was crushed under Mogar’s heel and no one in the kingdom could outfox Narvaroth. It was a time when Narvaroth directed Mogar and Mogar followed him without question. The god of rage could not see through the red in his eyes to discern friend from foe. He was, undoubtedly, the hammer. But it was Narvaroth’s hand swinging.

He wants that back. He’ll _get_ that back.

As soon as he gets Mogar to get the stick out of his ass.

Luckily Narvaroth has a plan. And, yeah, he’s not a fan of the long con or anything that requires his full attention. It’s fucking irritating is what it is. But, well, later on, when Mogar’s on his side again, he’ll tell him just how much effort he put into this. He can’t think of a better way to show he cares.

And really, it’s all for Mogar anyway. Keeping all the anger balled up has to be bad for the blood pressure.

They’re in Philadelphia today and Narvaroth wants to take a moment to stop and applaud the furious set of Mogar’s jaw, it’s so nice to see. He looks ready to snap someone like a twig over his knee.

“Narvaroth! _NARVAROTH!_ ” He roars as he gives chase. The dreaded hammer is safely tucked away; Mogar won’t risk striking out, not when Narvaroth is carrying around some cracked copper bell that the humans are so fond of. It must be a relic or something. Whatever it is, Mogar’s not happy about it being grabbed.

“I can hear you fine, thanks!” Narvaroth calls back as he flies further out of reach.

“For fuck’s sake, Narvaroth--”

“I’m sorry, am I making you _angry_?”

Mogar doesn’t respond, but the storm clouds overhead are darkening more and more, blotting out the sun entirely. They flash menacingly, thunder growling.

Narvaroth beams.

The trouble is no matter how much headway he got, it was always ruined by that blue-green streak of metal crashing the party. By the fucking gods, he’s _so sick_ of the damn Iron Man. He admires him, obviously; the armor he wears is impressive, especially for Earth technology. Narvaroth covets it, and tried to get himself of piece of it.

That plan changed, obviously. Still a great success, though _Vav_ probably wouldn’t agree.

Iron Man has been a pain in the ass since he started showing up at every turn. Narvaroth would always be able to outstep Mogar, could lead a game of quarry and hunter across the entire planet if he wanted with fleet steps and illusionary tricks. Iron Man, though, is a stubborn son of a bitch and has come close to foiling Narvaroth’s escapes several times.

So when he arrives on the scene, Narvaroth is just _annoyed_. Who the fuck does that? Can’t the Iron Man keep his nose out from where it doesn’t belong?

The show’s over, and Narvaroth already knows what to do. He soars up into the cloud cover, tracing a long loop. As he dives, headed back down, he drops the giant bell.

He also drops another, casting it far in the other direction so both monstrosities hurtle towards the ground at a breakneck speed.

It’s an easy illusion to keep up for a master like him, and as Mogar and Iron Man each rush after a bell, Narvaroth takes the chance to get back into the clouds and fly away.

His work has been cut short again. Not for the first time, Narvaroth wonders if he should remove Mr Ramsey from the equation permanently. The progress he made with Mogar while Iron Man was recuperating was substantial. Killing the man outright could make it harder to make Mogar see reason, but at least their meetings would stop being interrupted.

Narvaroth is over New Jersey when he feels it, the tingle in the back of his skull. Mogar is behind him. He’s being followed.

Well, that’s a problem.

His mind looks for the angle he needs, a way to find safe harbor. Cities are difficult; Mogar’s shown an affinity for them over and over, and Narvaroth wonders how much time he spent on the human streets, playing the good little mundane, learning the language and culture.

It must’ve been quite a long while, if _Michael_ is any indication.

Narvaroth spent time wandering the planet when he first landed after falling through the space between realms, but he had to. Mogar’s power was the physical, the overwhelming, devastating physical. Narvaroth’s could toy with matter like any sorcerer, but his power was the mental, the emotional.

He learned the human’s social structures, their strengths, their deep glaring weaknesses. He learned how to turn on the charm and how to disappear in a crowd. It was pitifully easy; they were all mortals, walking around with their hearts counting off their lives like pendulums. Giving them a shred of attention, fixing his regard on them had every one of them begging to please him.

Narvaroth didn’t live among them long enough to go fucking native like his old friend _Michael I-Have-No-Originality Jones_.

The only downside to his abbreviated time spent amongst the people of Earth is that his allies are few and far between. But, he has one good option waiting for him just a little further north in New York City.

 

* * *

 

Gavin Ramsey-Free was always going to be a powerful token for him. It took some doing to establish himself in such a way that he could get close to the artisan, but it had been well worth his time. When Gavin had crafted his gauntlets, had actually created something that gave Narvaroth more power and control than he already had, he’d wanted to take Gavin back with them to their realm. Taking him to the forges after feeding him some golden apples would have been a boon for them.

And Narvaroth was already putting those wheels in motion, sliding into one of the holes in the young man’s much perforated heart.

Only then he had seen the fucking piece of the Bifrost around his neck.

That had been a difficult night.

Chipping away at Gavin’s easy confidence and thirst for innovation had been the obvious next course of action, but Narvaroth wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t get a deep delight from taking Gavin’s greatest strengths and dismantling him with them. It was almost disappointingly simple and made Narvaroth question Mogar’s tastes in conquests.

Maybe the artisan was the only one Mogar could score with. It wasn’t like Mogar had a lot of game to work with. But who could tell?

The best part about it is that when Mogar catches Narvaroth’s trail, Narvaroth knows he’s still got Gavin’s skirts to hide under. Gavin was so desperate for attention, he’d take it from the person who styled his downfall.

Fucking humans, how do they even function?

It’s an even simpler matter than the bells to hide his robes, wave away the clothes of his realm, leaving the familiar shape of the X-Ray suit. BYTE Tower shines amid the skyline as Narvaroth sails in. The glass wall of the design lab is always open to him and he slips inside, touching down as Ray Narvaez, BYTE recruit and close friend of Gavin Ramsey-Free. It’s a mask that’s well-worn and comfortable.

But it’s a mask. And he wonders if Michael Jones is the same, if Mogar has just forgotten to take that disguise back off.

That’s fine. Narvaroth will help tear it off him as soon as he finds the right leverage.

“Ray,” Gavin says, looking up from his work with a faint smile. “How’s things?”

“Boring,” Narvaroth says, shutting the window behind him, glancing out at the horizon with keen eyes. There’s no sign of Mogar yet, but Narvaroth can still feel him distantly. He’s not in the clear just yet. “Did a few laps around the city looking for action. Nuthin’.”

“Not exactly a bad thing though, is that?” His attention is split between Narvaroth and his computer. Whatever is on the screen is making his brow crease in confusion.

“I know, I shouldn’t want bad shit to go down but...” He shrugs.

“Yeah...” Gavin’s attention is _definitely_ elsewhere. “Hey, give me a sec.”

“Sure.” He watches as Gavin picks up the phone on his desk and punches in a few numbers. Whoever he calls, he doesn’t speak to, just listens.

Narvaroth can still feel Mogar and begins to think he can’t stay, at least not here. Getting himself lost in the building could work, especially if Mogar gets distracted by his choice human. And, given the rock around said human’s neck, that’s pretty much a certainty.

When Gavin sets the phone back down, Narvaroth asks, “What was that about?”

“It’s... there’s an alert. From _Mogar_.” Gavin shoots Narvaroth a... look. Narvaroth’s not sure what exactly it means. “He’s had a BYTE communicator for _ages_ and he’s finally turned it on.”

 _Shit_. “Shit, really?”

“He actually gave BYTE information. About Narvaroth. A rogue agent flying towards here from the south, actually.” His eyes are distant and thoughtful, darting between the phone and the skyline visible out the window. “Strange...” Gavin looks back at his computer, tapping at the kes idly.

That is most definitely his indicator to leave. “Okay, I’m already suited up. I’m going to head to logistics and see what the agents there need. Stay put and you’ll be safe.”

Narvaroth casts one more look out the window before turning, headed for the door, eager to get lost in the crush of BYTE personnel.

He stops in his tracks when he finds Gavin standing in his path. He has one arm outstretched, palm held out to Narvaroth. And on his arm he’s put on a repulsor glove, a remnant of the Vav outfit.

“It’s funny,” Gavin says, slow as though he’s still working through his suspicions. “The timing of it. You... you were always away from BYTE when Narvaroth attacked. And I just checked your flight data. What were _you_ doing in Philadelphia?”

Narvaroth affects his best timid, nervous look, letting his gaze focus on the business end of the glove. “Whoa, Jesus, Gavin... W-watch where you’re pointing that thing.”

“And your skill set, now that I think about it... Michael said Narvaroth wanted to get at that volcano to tap into its energy, kind of like how you use ambient energy for your elemental manipulation.” His voice grows strong, gathering speed as he speaks, low and steady with that confidence Narvaroth _thought_ he’d ground out of him already.

“Gav... Vav, buddy, come on. You’re freaking me out, man.” He holds up his hands, stepping away cautiously.

“I think,” Gavin goes on, face set hard and brimming with anger, “that you should wait right here. We’re going to sit here until Michael gets here.”

“Okay, fine, fine!” He laughs rang out hollowly. “I’ll stay here, that’s cool, just-- just put the glove down, Vav, those things fucking hurt.”

A stillness seizes Gavin, his dull green eyes narrowing dangerously. “How would you know?” When Narvaroth says nothing, he licks his lips and lifts his spare hand to his neck, pulling at the chain there. “I think you forget, _Ray_ ,” he spits with sudden malice, “that I am the lead technician for the Iron Man prosthesis. I am the voice in Geoff’s ear. I monitor all the battlefield data from the suit, either live or after combat. I _know_ when someone gets hit with a repulsor beam.”

His hands shake as he takes the Bifrost pendant and squeezes it. “Sort of like how I know Narvaroth’s been hit in the fucking face with it.” He bares his teeth. “Nice job healing that up, by the way.”

The Bifrost chunk flashes, glowing so bright that even clutched in Gavin’s fist, the rainbow light peeks through. Narvaroth looks at it and feels a pang of longing.

And then just feels angry.

He drops the act entirely, letting his glamour fall, and revels in the way Gavin sucks in a breath and shakes harder. “Well then,” Narvaroth says, smiling. “I want it on the record that I _did_ try to do this the easy way.”

Gavin doesn’t see it when Narvaroth moves; it’s an easy illusion to draw across his eyes. He drops it when he’s standing at Gavin’s side, and before Gavin can leap away, he has him by the neck.

Humans are so light, like they just weigh what’s in their bodies and nothing else. Picking Gavin up is easy. It’s like lifting a cat by the scruff of its neck; he just hangs there, wide eyed and scared.

“I’ve been looking for a way to do away with this stupid _Michael_ bullshit. I think I’ve finally got it,” Narvaroth explains as he seizes the chain around Gavin’s neck and yanks it. It breaks and he takes it, then slams Gavin down on his own desk. Gavin gasps in pain, trying to kick at Narvaroth.

“You’re gonna need more than that.” He takes his hand and presses it to Gavin’s, his gauntlet flush against the repulsor glove. “Go on.”

Gavin looks at their hands and comprehension washes over his expression. He shakes his head, defiant.

Narvaroth digs a thumb into his windpipe. “There’s an even harder way to do this, Gavin. Don’t fucking test me.”

He’s a smart kid, really. Or at least able to tell when a real threat’s being leveled on him. He winces in pain as he’s squeezed and finally obeys. The repulsor beam discharges right into the gauntlet, the power running through it and up into Narvaroth’s body. It’s even more energy than he expected, making his eyes close against the sting of all that bundled power.

“Good. Now, excuse me.” He leaves Gavin there and walks to the window. In his hand, the Bifrost chunk continues to glow blindingly, calling out. A broken piece of something grand calling to its disgraced prince. If there was a poetic bone in his body, Narvaroth would call it an inspired coincidence.

Instead, he just goes to the window and opens it, looking down at the seventy storey drop. That’ll work.

He holds the necklace off the edge and lets it fall.

Then, taking all that borrowed power, he unleashes a sphere of white-hot energy after it.

They hit the ground about the same time and the force of the blast shakes everything around them. He watches the fire and smoke plume up as the street is reduced to a smoking crater. This high up, the wind is too overwhelming to hear anything, but he sees the flashing of emergency lights and the tiny specks of people running in all directions.

All around, a good show. He thinks it’s his best chance at knocking some sense into Mogar.

Before he can do anything else, Narvaroth hears a whine behind him, one he’s fucking _sick_ of hearing. He moves before Gavin can take the shot, diving sideways. The window blows outward as a repulsor blast takes it out.

It’s the only shot Gavin manages before Narvaroth reaches him and backhands him across the face. The impact sends him sideways into a bank of servers.

“Stay down or I’ll make you,” he promises before making his exit out the window.

 

* * *

 

He finds Mogar knelt in the center of the crater. It’s a mess, with power lines sparking and water mains broken, leaking down to make a stew of dirt and concrete and urban miasma. Mogar’s soaked in it, uncaring as he shovels through the rubble with his bare hands.

Narvaroth finds a steady bit of the rim of the crater and settles in to watch his handiwork unfold. Mogar’s voice is barely audible over the commotion around them. There are injured humans and BYTE agents and sirens. It’s not hard to veil themselves from the people: Narvaroth just waves a hand, then pays them no mind, leaning in to listen.

“No, no no no, fucking Christ, don’t do this to me,” Mogar is chanting under his breath like a litany. It’s a funny thought, a god babbling litanies. “I promised, please, I promised.”

Narvaroth knows when he finds the necklace because Mogar goes silent. He fishes it out of the rock and muck, the glow of the Bifrost illuminating the area.

Slowly, he stands and turns to Narvaroth. His face is pale and streaked with dirt. A rain’s already begun to fall, painting dark rivulets down his skin. It’s a sorry sight.

“How,” Mogar croaks, then stops, gathering himself. “How did you know? About him?”

Narvaroth shrugs one shoulder. “Me and my buddy Vav?” He holds up a hand, holding two fingers together. “We were like this, thick as thieves.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face just smears the dirt around, making him look more wrecked. It’s not a bad look, Narvaroth thinks. “You said... You son of a bitch, he made those gauntlets. You used him.” A shudder rocks through Mogar, his whole body moving with barely contained emotion. “You’re the one who-- of course you were, it had your fingerprints all over it. You fucked with him, tried to break him down!”

The shrillness is weird. “Um. Okay?” Is he meant to feel bad? For messing around with a human? Please. “I mean, sure, I did that. But it was for the greater good.”

The way Mogar’s shaking is almost alarming, but Narvaroth grins at the sight. It’s exactly what he’s been working towards, _finally_ the rage is coming back. That amazing blind fury. “And _what_ ,” Mogar says, low and deadly, “is the greater good here?”

This. This is why Narvaroth was always the brains of their duo. He jumps to his feet and gestures to them both. “We are! Look around, Mogar, and tell me this is where we belong, I fucking _dare_ you! You and I are bigger than this place can handle!”

“Speak for yourself!”

“Oh, riiiiight!” He can’t help but laugh openly at Mogar now. “Because you’re _Michael_ now. You were going to let this place collar Mogar the Feared, so-- what? You could settle down with your little mortal pet? Build a house by the beach, retire, get a dog?” He scoffs. “Give me a fucking break. Besides, that plan’s fucked now, huh?”

The pendant gives one more pulse of light before calming, sleeping sound once more in Mogar’s fist. “Narvaroth.”

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations,” he says, dead calm like the air right before a tornado touches down. The pendant is tucked away and his hammer flies to his hand immediately to fill the space. “Now I’m mad.”

The ground crumbles under them when Mogar comes at him, hitting him at full force. Narvaroth digs his feet in, gasping in surprise, only barely managing to toss him sideways. Mogar tumbles, inertia carrying him clean through a bus shelter. Glass and metal scatters musically across the ground as the thunder around them builds, sounding like a war drum: _boom, boom, boom._

Narvaroth knows the dance. He twirls out his sword, salutes his comrade, readies himself. It’s a homecoming, being in the midst of Mogar’s rage. He gives it the spectacle is deserves, letting Mogar come at him, stepping out of his way and slashing along his side.

His rapier glances off, and he ducks when Mogar swings his hammer, aiming high. He can feel the devastating force behind every strike, the anger, and grins victoriously as Mogar tries again to pummel him.

There is a blinding flash of lightning that leaves Narvaroth with its afterimage when it’s gone. The hesitation that gives him is long enough for the hammer to connect, a throw catching him in the stomach. The air is knocked out of him, and he stumbles backward. The force is such that his bones feel like they’re rattling like windchimes.

The hammer whips away from him, back to its owner, and Narvaroth looks up, clutching his abdomen. He sees Mogar leap up, bringing the hammer back down with all his power.

Narvaroth pushes through the pain and gets the hell out of the way.

He misses the strike itself, but falls when the street is ruined by Mogar’s landing. It’s a new crater, twice the size of the one Narvaroth had created. A far building is caught in the shockwave, its glass facade cracking and falling like daggers.

Narvaroth whistles appreciatively. “Nice!” Then falls to his side as the hammer wings past his head. “Not as nice!”

“Shut _UP_!” Mogar screams.

Narvaroth can _feel_ the static building up in the air. It’s just what he wanted. Kicking off, he flies up, fast, looking down and watching as he’s chased. The hair on his arms stands up as he ascends higher and higher.

Clearing the buildings, Narvaroth lifts his sword straight up. The lightning that crashes into the metal, running down into his hand, and he struggles to absorb it all into his gauntlet. It’s white-hot lancing through him, up one arm, across his shoulders, and down to his other gauntlet. So harnessed, he unleashes it down into Mogar’s face.

He doesn’t have the time to cackle with joy over the intoxicating magnitude of that energy. Mogar bursts through it, unaffected, hammer outstretched.

Narvaroth pinwheels and lands on his back, hitting the side of BYTE Tower so hard he almost passes through the steel and concrete. The wall concaves, and he stays there for a moment, dazed.

It’s a front row seat to the storm stirring like a sigil of black smoke and white light above the city. The lightning and thunder is nearly constant, and _loud_. Yet he can still hear Mogar as he stands under the epicenter, soaked with rain with eyes aglow with a light that’s unmistakingly inhuman.

“You think,” he says clear and audible even over the storm, “you can take _my power_ and then use it against me?” His lips curl back. “I am Mogar, the prince of storms and the god of rage and the harbinger of your destruction,” his voice picks up, a bellow carried everywhere by the wind, “AND YOU THINK MY OWN LIGHTNING WILL SLOW ME DOWN _WHEN YOU’VE TAKEN FROM ME WHAT I SWORE TO PROTECT_?!”

Mogar comes at him, swinging his hammer in a wide arc, and plants it into Narvaroth’s shoulder. The strength of it carries them down, smashing through floor after floor the tower. As they come down, they leave a wide streak of wreckage along the facade.

Narvaroth feels every pane that breaks and every girder that he’s smashed through. Every one of them hurts.

This could be going better.

Knowing he needs to get away, he kicks against the building, propelling himself down and away. “Scuse me!” He takes off, flying out of reach as fast as he can. There are luckily buildings everywhere and Narvaroth loops around one, putting it between himself and Mogar.

He somehow wasn’t expecting it when Mogar went _through_ the building to grab him.

The grip on him is brutal, and Mogar takes them down into a steep dive, headed right to the original crater again. Or, Narvaroth thinks it’s the original; the lightning has grown almost constant and he can no longer truly see what’s happening.

Mogar slams him down into the rubble and muck, one hand solidly around his neck, holding him down. His other hand he holds up, hammer outstretched, and the lightning pounds into it over and over again, the thunder deafening, shockwaves beginning to erode everything around them. With enough time, just this could take out the entire island and beyond.

Narvaroth lies back and breathes, trying to focus on Mogar. “You see?”

Mogar stares down at him, eyes bright and wet like an animal’s. “I am going to kill you.”

The idea is so fucking stupid he has to laugh. “Yeah? And then what? You going to go back to walking the planet? Hope for rescue? Or to at least meet another young thing that’s easy on the eyes?” He shakes his head. “I’m all you’ve fucking got left, Mogar.”

“You’re fucking _poison_!”

“And you’re a fucking wrecking ball! That’s what we are! What we were meant to be! Get with the program.”

His hand wavers, hammer swaying for a moment. “The program...” He chokes, shaking his head. “The program is that I’m too out of my fucking skull to think, so you do all the thinking for us, is that right?”

“You make it sound ugly. It’d be like the old days,” Narvaroth says.

“The old days,” Mogar repeats. “The old days died when we were exiled, you traitorous piece of shit.”

His grip on the hammer reaffirms, and Narvaroth thinks he might not have planned this out just right.

And if that’s the case, if Mogar’s really truly out of his reach... then he’ll take the strike. Fuck this fucking world and it’s people, he’ll have oblivion, thanks.

Besides. He can think of no better send-off for Mogar, leaving him so alone. That’ll teach him.

He opens his eyes wide and makes himself look through the pain at the blinding light pouring into Mogar. He can feel the power in him building, coming to an apex, to a point where it wouldn’t matter if Mogar hit him with a hammer or a feather-- it’d be all over either way.

And then it _fucking grinds to a halt_. Narvaroth doesn’t know why immediately, but as the ringing in his ears fades, he hears it.

“ _MICHAEL!_ Michael, _STOP!_ ”

He turns his head and sees over the ridge of the crater that Gavin Ramsey-Free is leaning over, screaming to be heard over the din. Captain America is behind him, one arm wrapped like an iron bar around the artisan’s chest, holding him back. The Captain has his shield held over them both, a paltry umbrella against the storm.

Mogar’s staring at Gavin like he’s a spectre from a hundred lifetimes past. He’s still brimming with power, ribbons of electricity skating over his bare skin. But his voice is cracked and tight when he says, “I... I thought you were dead.”

“Well, you’re a stupid sod then! Was there a body? No! Way to jump to conclusions!” Gavin shouts at Michael, trying to shake out of the Captain’s grip. The Captain just hangs onto him tighter. “I swear, I’m peachy, I’m _fine_ , now stop it before you bring down Manhattan!”

Narvaroth can feel his victory, costly as it was, slipping from his grasp. He should’ve just killed Gavin; even his brilliance wasn’t worth the trouble. “Mogar, stop, don’t fucking listen to the goddamn human!”

Mogar’s attention jumps back to Narvaroth, all his ferocity intact and ready. “You.” The hammer clangs to the ground a beat before Mogar slams his fist into Narvaroth’s face. The hot power of it sinks into him, making him scream at the agony.

Everything’s dark after that. He distantly feels Mogar climb off him, but doesn’t have the strength to open his eyes. “We’re done, Narvaroth. No, wait--” The hammer is set on his chest; there’s no way he can move it, especially not now when he’s so weak. His arms are tugged up and Narvaroth feels the gauntlets ripped from him. “You don’t fucking deserve anything he makes.”

The last thing Narvaroth hears before the darkness takes him, is Mogar saying, “Hey, Sorola, he’s all yours.”

And then nothing, for a long time.


	10. aftermathematics

Griffon Ramsey has many reasons to hate BYTE. From the stupid fucking name to the way they hunted down Jack to their eyesore of a tower to that time they kidnapped Gavin to Sorola’s... to _Sorola_ , basically-- she had a lot of ammunition against them, and their status of ‘lesser’ evil was well open to debate.

That said, Griffon thinks Agent Tuggey is all right. Tuggey arrives via helicopter, and it’s only a few hours after the travesty in New York. With Geoff away and no word from anyone, all Griffon had was the new channel’s panicked speculation and image after image of the massive structural damage right outside BYTE Tower. It had been driving her crazy, the worry and anger.

Griffon’s just thinking about going to the basement and digging out one of the older suits to fly to New York with when the doorbell rings. On her welcome mat is Agent Tuggey, and she has Gavin at her side. He looks tired and pale and is shaking a little, but he’s _alive_ and he’s home.

She drags him forward, into an embrace, petting a hand through his hair. Without resistance, Gavin sags forward, leaning heavily against her. His arms wrap around her in return, holding on tight.

Griffon gives Tuggey her attention. “You going to be in trouble for this?”

“I don’t really care,” she replies, utterly frank about it. “We’ve collected the information about the event from him. There’s no reason he can’t go home. I got him out of there as soon as I could.”

“You’re good people, Tuggey,” Griffon says.

“Well, don’t go spreading it around.” She smirks in a way that doesn’t befit a BYTE agent. “Iron Man and Mogar are still in meetings about Narvaroth’s capture and potential future. I’m sure they’ll be along though.”

“Are they all right?”

“Yes. Iron Man wasn’t in the area at the time and Mogar...” She shrugged. “He’s Mogar.”

 _He’s Michael_ , she thinks vividly, but says nothing. She wouldn’t expect Michael to show any weakness in BYTE’s company, but he’d be home soon. “I’ll keep an eye out for them.”

Tuggey nods and gives a little wave before heading back to the helicopter.

Griffon waits until it lifts off before pushing Gavin back, looking into his eyes, stroking her thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. “Hey, you.”

“Hey,” Gavin murmurs, leaning his face into her grip.

“What happened?”

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “I... Christ, so much. Can... can we go in? I need a drink.”

“A drink or a drink?” she asks. Her arm slides through his as she leads him inside. It’s late in Austin, or very, very early depending on perspective. The TV, tuned to the news, casts the room in flickering shadow. She’s quick to tell it to shut off and bring up the lamps to just barely light the place. “Here, sit.”

Gavin wobbles over to the sofa and sits heavily. “Um. Not a drink, just...” His hand scrubs over his face. “Just a drink.”

A Ramsey not wanting to drown their troubles in alcohol. That worries her more than anything. It’s not natural.

There’s not much in the fridge that fits the bill, but she manages to find a birch beer in the back. The kitchen’s fully wired up to the rest of the house, so before heading back to the living room, Griffon walks to the wall-mounted screen, pulling up a few security options. A few quick changes to the lab and she closes it out, bringing out the drink for Gavin.

She finds him laid on the sofa. His coat’s pulled off, tossed on the floor, and he’s drawn up to tuck his feet on the cushions as much as his long legs allow.

Instead of opening the bottle and handing it over, Griffon sets it on the table and taps Gavin on the shoulder. “Hey. Sit up a sec.”

He does, and she settles into the corner seat before pulling him back down. He goes easily, his head on her lap. The drumming of his heartbeat is obvious under her hands, too fast. Without a word, she puts her hand over his eyes and shushes him quietly.

“Griffon,” he starts.

“I’ll wake you up when they get close. Just rest now.”

He does, and she watches over him, waiting.

 

* * *

 

Later, she gets confirmation that Geoff and Michael are on their way. It’s almost daylight and she’s not slept yet, and walking past a mirror makes that obvious. It’s a good thing she is able to work the punk rock vampire look, really, because she looks like something out of a Nick Cave song.

Gavin, though, she points to the bathroom. “Clean up. Geoff’s going to be on a warpath as it is. You look like shit and he’ll never shut up.”

“Christ, it’s like I wasn’t nearly killed today,” Gavin grouses, pushing himself up with shaky limbs.

She swats him, because it helps cover for the pang his words cause. The thing is she’s a parent, yeah, but she skipped out on a lot of those experiences. As far as she was concerned, that was for the best, but on days like this... She reminded herself that they already had a locator in Gavin, there wasn’t much more she could do without putting the _mother_ in _smother_.

“You wash, you’ll feel better,” she tells him.

As soon as he makes it up the stairs (and she does watch to make sure he doesn’t fall), she pours herself a drink, then another because Geoff would want one if he were home. It’s her way of showing her love.

The boys must’ve been flying together. She hears a chime from the house and knows Geoff’s on the launch pad, getting out of the suit. At the same time, there’s a knock at the door and she goes to let Michael in.

Having watched the news and seen the damage laid out in NYC, it’s jarring to see Michael like this. He looks small in his jacket and jeans, the hat smushing down his hair into a ring of auburn curls. If Michael started shit with her at a bar, she’d be reasonably certain she could take him. He’s been cleaned up since what happened, and no one would ever know what he was under the freckles and politely interested expression.

If anything was a superpower, it was that. Griffon can handle demigods with affinities for storms. It’s the packaging that throws her.

“Hey. Can I come in?”

It’s that he asked that gets his foot in the door. She steps back and lets him in. “He’s taking a shower, be down soon.”

Michael tries to look confused and fails miserably. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Michael,” she says, “you haven’t had to for a long damn time.”

“Oh.” His gaze drops to his shoes and when he shucks his hands into his pockets, he looks even younger and more harmless. “Griffon... About today.”

She holds up a hand. “Lemme tell you something, sparkplug. When I let BYTE have Gavin, Jack swore to me he’d look after him and make sure nothing happened to him. As we both know, shit  _happened_.”

He winces. “That’s not his fault. When you think about it, it’s sort of mine.”

Oh, fucking Christ. Griffon resists the urge to roll her eyes through sheer willpower. “When you think about it, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. But my _point_ is that Jack promised to protect Gavin and Gavin got hurt. I don’t plan on taking Jack off the Christmas card list.”

As he walks in, Geoff adds, “Which is a shame, considering our tastes in Christmas cards.”

Michael’s forgotten immediately as Griffon moves to her husband. She likes Michael, but it’s Geoff, and he has that look that means he needs her to walk over, stand on his toes and reach up to kiss him. “Husband.”

“My queen.” He returns the kiss, sighing into Griffon’s mouth. “Sorry I didn’t call.”

“Too busy yelling at Sorola?”

“Not yelling, for once.” Geoff leans back, his eyes getting hard again. “Where is he?”

The stairs creak as Gavin comes back down. His hair is curling as it dries and it’s been a long time since she’s seen him in those tattered pajama pants that hang too far up his ankles, but at least he’s out of his lab coat. If she has her way, he’ll stay out of it for a while.

“Good, there you are,” Geoff says, and he’s already louder. Feeling the signs of an oncoming rant, Griffon nudges Michael towards the couch before going to get drinks. He seems reluctant to sit until Gavin pads softly over and settles into couch himself, sitting with his legs bent in front of him like a wall. Michael looks at him, eyes bright in a way human eyes don’t normally get, and goes to sit with him.

As she goes to the kitchen, she can easily hear Geoff explaining: “So Narvaroth’s locked up good, he’s not going fucking anywhere for a while. Sorola sends his _totally bullshit_ regards, says he’s super fucking sorry about hiring the little shit and then giving him unfettered access to... you know. _Everything_.”

“Geoff,” Gavin starts, sounding tired.

Not wanting to let Geoff to go off without supervision, Griffon grabs a six pack and carries it back, setting it on the table and starting in on a bottle.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Geoff says. “I am thinking that we’re going to yank all our support for BYTE and demand every piece of our technology back from them. Then I’ll buy the building next door so we can watch them fall to fucking pieces.”

“I’d have to ask Legal to be sure but I’m pretty sure we can’t do that,” Griffon says.

Gavin puts his hand up. “I’m confused. Why is this BYTE’s fault?”

Geoff’s jaw works for a second, furious shock plain on his face. “Why is this their fault? _Why is this their fault?_ ”

“Oh balls,” Gavin mutters and leans in to grab a beer himself. When he has trouble twisting the cap off, Michael takes it from him wordlessly and opens it. A shared look passes between them for a moment before Gavin’s eyes are focused on his knees again.

“It’s their fault because the guy they refused to help us fight, the guy that was a clear and present danger, the alien dude with the evil horns and the illusions and the sword-- _they fucking hired him and left him in a lab with you for weeks!_ ”

“Geoff!” Griffon snaps with the same force as a whip crack. Her eyes are on Gavin, who looks pale and hunched in his seat, eyes low.

Michael’s watching him closely, and Griffon sees him let his hand fall to the side so his fingers are against Gavin’s leg.

“Look, just...” Geoff’s hands dig through his hair, pulling hard. “Bodyguards. We’re getting bodyguards.”

“What bodyguards would’ve helped against fucking _Narvaroth_?” she asks.

“ _Robots_! We’ll build robot bodyguards. Gavin, can we build robot bodyguards?”

Gavin shakes his head and gets up abruptly. “I need to...” When Michael moves to stand too, Gavin reaches out and pushes him back down with a hand on his shoulder. “ _Sit_ , for fuck’s sake. I just... need a minute,” he says before darting away, down the hall. It’s about as fast as he can go without actually running.

Geoff watches him go, then looks at Michael. “He needs to breathe.”

Michael’s looking at his shoes again. “I.. Yeah, I know, I just...”

Clearing her throat, Griffon asks, “What am I missing?”

“Michael’s been hovering like... like a thing that hovers a lot,” Geoff explains. “Pretty much throughout all the debriefings and shit.”

“Have I? I didn’t realize. Fuck.” Michael bows forward, face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’ll...” He jerks, like he’s about to stand, then stops himself just as quickly. “No, someone else... tell him I’m sorry?”

Her boys. All so bright in their own ways, but also so very not. “Michael, it’s okay. I don’t think there’s a handbook of how to handle the aftermath of a homicidal alien attack.” On that note, she looks at Geoff. “Isn’t that right?”

He has the decency to look contrite. “Look, I’m just... ranting. You know me.”

“I know, but don’t do it at Gavin right now.” She takes another swig of beer before getting up. “I’m going to check on him. Both of you work on chilling the fuck out, all right?”

“Ma’am,” Geoff agrees, picking out a drink. “Michael, have a beer.”

“I’m not--”

“ _Have a beer_ ,” Geoff orders, and Michael does.

Trusting them to sort themselves out, Griffon heads in the direction Gavin ran in.

She finds him sitting on the stairs, one floor down. It’s the design lab’s floor, and the look Gavin gives her is accusatory. “You locked the lab,” he points out.

“Yep. Something Michael suggested a while back.” She sits with him, one step higher up. Without comment, he leans over to rest his head on her lap, as he had before. And just like before, she runs her thumb over the contours of his face. When he’s had a moment to settle in and get used to her, she says softly, “What happened, sweetheart?”

His breath hitches, and the exhale after is shaky. “I dunno what you’re asking.”

“Gav. I’m asking whatever you need me to be.” She tweaks his ear. “Come on, help me out here. I’m not the best at this.”

A laugh startles out of him, which is a start. “Right... this family’s not toppers at emotional bollocks, are we?”

“Nope.”

He sighs. “Right. So he...” Gavin stops for so long, Griffon almost prompts him again. She doesn’t need to. He talks quietly, and at length, not leaving out details as he tells his side of the long, complicated story: Ray, the Vav suit, how it lead to Jack hulking out, how he hadn’t questioned Ray about the blame for the clusterfuck, and how it all came together with Narvaroth.

“The thing is,” Gavin says as he winds down. “The stupid thing is... He was Ray with me. And it’s like... I know, in hindsight, what he was doing. But I still feel like I-- I botched it all up.”

“Yeah, that’s going around, I think.”

“And I sort of miss him, is the weird thing. Ray, I mean. It’s like... Do you remember _Bioshock_? And the big twist at the end?”

“The Randian with the golf club.”

“No, the Irish bloke who wasn’t Irish.” He lifts his head, like he needs to confirm she’s following along. “Even after he wasn’t the Irish bloke anymore, I missed him. It’s like that. Does that make sense?”

Thankfully she remembers watching Geoff play that game, tucked up with Gavin on the sofa behind Geoff as he sat on the floor. It was cozy and familial, and throughout their years together, those are the moments that stand out for her. “You miss Ray.”

“It’s like Narvaroth killed him, and I’m mad about it. Even though Ray...” Gavin bites his lip. “He might not have been a great friend, honestly.”

“No kidding.” It’s a good thing ‘Ray’ is dead; she has the full story now, all the pieces together make sense at last. More than anything, she wants to take a laser cutter to Narvaroth. “You know he was messing with you.”

“I do. It’s just...” he sighs and lays his head back down. “I dunno, Griffon.”

“I know,” she soothes, petting his hair. “It’s over now though, and you’ll get through it. You’re the smartest ditz I know.”

He snorts. “Oh, thanks.”

“Anytime.” What she doesn’t tell him is that the next person to hurt him, she will tear apart herself. There are a few great loves in her life, room aplenty for Geoff, for her little contracting company that became Ramsey Enterprises, for ebony wood, for Reposado tequila. Gavin is one of them, and the only thing that keeps her from flying to BYTE Tower to deal with Narvaroth herself is the knowledge that BYTE is going to do worse to him than she and her many power tools could.

They sit in silence for a while. She gives Gavin a loan of her own quiet strength while in return filling up on the feeling of him safe and nearby where no one can hurt him. Griffon knows that keeping Gavin home forever is not an option, that it’d kill him as fast as any threat would, but...

For a few minutes sitting on the stairs, she pretends.

The spell is broken by footsteps on the stairs. Griffon and Gavin both look up at Michael, above them on the landing.

“Hey,” Michael says, looking nervous. “Can I... Gav, can we talk a sec?”

Griffon looks to Gavin. When he nods, she gets up. He looks better now, less like a stiff breeze will knock him down, and well enough to handle Michael. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” she says.

“Thanks” Gavin gets up, brushing himself off. His attention is completely shifted onto Michael. As fucking usual. He’s always been like a moth to a flame with Michael. She just hopes that’s as far as the metaphor goes. “Michael, hi.”

Griffon makes sure to trip Michael as she passes him on the stairs. It’s not as satisfying as she expected; Michael just catches himself on the air, gliding down the rest of the steps.

As she goes, she takes her time. It’s not that she mistrusts Michael. In fact, he’s on the very short list of people she trusts Gavin with entirely. But, it’s been a long day, so Griffon finds the spot on the landing where she can just barely watch them without being conspicuous.

Michael joins Gavin down on his step, but there’s a weird distance between them. “I wanted... Here.” He tucks a hand into his pocket, pulls out a necklace. She recognizes it; it’s the one Gavin’s been wearing for years now, the one Geoff’s always calls an alien promise ring. “I fixed the chain, though-- I mean, probably not very well.”

Gavin reaches out, then drops his hand. “It’s yours, though.”

Michael shakes his head. “No. I gave it to you. It’s yours. I mean, if you want it.” He glances away, then seems to force himself to meet Gavin’s eyes. “If it’s because-- because I fucked up, I know I promised I’d protect you and--”

“I called for you and you came,” Gavin cuts him off. “Saved the day and beat the bad guy like a proper hero.” He smiles, and it’s soft in a way she’s not seen before. She didn’t know Gavin could be soft like that.

“Is that what it’s called?” Michael asks, voice hollow. “Because the way I remember it, I was almost too late--”

“But you weren’t,” Gavin says.

“And I sort of broke some things--”

“That’s not on you, that’s on Ray. On Narvaroth.”

“And-- Gav, if you hadn’t shown up...” Michael doesn’t look comforted. “Stop, Gavin, I thought you were-- and I fucking _lost_ it. If anyone saved the day, it was you.”

That, if anything, makes Gavin smile all the more gently. His hand swings forward, bumping the clenched fist Michael has at his side. “Is that awful then? I don’t mind being your hero if you’re gonna be mine, Michael.” And his smile’s as saccharine as his words.

Michael recoils, pulling a tight, frustrated face. “That’s not the point. I was supposed to _protect_ you! That’s...” He waves his arm, the pendant on the chain swinging for emphasis. “That’s what it means! You know that!”

Gavin’s smile fades. “And you did! I don’t see why you’re so bloody upset.” He follows Michael as he steps back, and pokes Michael in the chest with one finger. “You told me to call on you when I needed you and you’d be there. And, lo and behold, you _were_!”

“And in the process I lost my shit and almost took out a city block!” His hands come up for a second, like he wants to shake sense into Gavin, but he just drops them again, then scrubs one down his face. “Gavin. I’m... I don’t want to be that guy anymore. And for a second I was,” he admits in a whisper, voice tight and pained.

Gavin’s irritation melts away. “Michael. You stopped him. And, the massive storm and the lightning and the scaring the hell out of all those civilians, you might’ve done that.” His hand touches Michael’s wrist carefully. Michael jumps and looks down, watches Gavin hook his fingers through the chain looped around his fist. “So you know what? Next time? Try not to do that.”

Michael shoots him a confused look.

“I think you saved the day. You think you messed it. Fine.” He lifts his eyebrows, playful. “Split the difference. Let’s say you did an okay bit of heroing but have room for improvement.”

“You...” Michael laughs. “I’m not one of your design projects, Gavin.”

“Michael,” he says, cutting through. “Your thing is that you’re going to be better than you were, right? Then do better next time.”

Michael stares at him for a long moment, then down at their hands. “Next time...” He swallows, hard, and shakes Gavin’s hand off. Before Gavin can protest, Michael takes the necklace, shakes it out and lifts it. Getting with the program, Gavin ducks his head, let’s the chain slide around his neck. “Yeah... Okay, next time, I’ll do it better next time.” His fingers trace around Gavin’s neck, then, shaking slightly, slide up to cup his jaw. “Gavin.”

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Gavin huffs out a breath and leans his face in.

And that is more than Griffon needs to see. Not that she’s not glad the boys are sorting themselves out. She’s thrilled. Watching them dance around each other was amusing for the first year or so. Now, it’s overdue.

Griffon rejoins Geoff in the living room. He’s into his second beer, and she can tell he’s already forgotten to be angry about what happened. Harboring anger isn’t in his wheelhouse.

She squeezes in next to him, practically in his lap with her legs across his. There’s a chunk of wood on the side table in the vague shape of a bird; she picks it up along with some sandpaper and settles in under Geoff’s arm to work at it.

“Are you done creeping on the lovebirds?” Geoff asks quietly.

“Yep.”

They sit like that in silence for a while. Geoff’s hands wind around her waist, not pulling or even holding that tightly. It’s just a circle of familiar warmth around her, his wide palms curled over her hips. Close to her collarbone, he eventually asks, “So, are you going to tell me any of it or what?”

She grins. “Well. I don’t think Gavin’s going to die a spinster.”

Geoff snorts. “Good to know.”

She has the bird’s beak shaped when Michael and Gavin emerge. Gavin’s face is plainly flushed, his lips wet, and it’s painfully clear what they’d been up to, even as Michael tries to hide behind Gavin. They’re fucking _tiptoeing_ to get to the upstairs without being noticed, and it’s equal parts precious and sickening.

“Hey.” Griffon whistles, leaning over the sofa back to look at them. “Michael.”

Michael, called out so, straightens and tries to look dignified. No easy task when his hat is missing, his hair mussed up without it. “Yeah?”

“You’ve always seemed like a good man and have always tried to do right by us, even if you’re a bit of a stubborn shit at times,” Griffon tells him. Michael’s mouth twitches, a smile waiting just out of sight. “But in light of recent events, I’m gonna tell you that if you hurt Gavin, I will pour every one of my many resources into forging a weapon that can destroy a god.”

He nods solemnly. “That’s fair. Is there... anything else?”

She grins. “Nope! Have fun! Use protection!”

Gavin looks like he wants the ground to swallow him, but Michael mirrors her grin like a sunbeam cutting through dark clouds. “Understood,” he says, then seizes Gavin with an arm just under the hips, lifting him.

Gavin squawks and clutches at his jacket. “Michael! _Mi_ chael, seriously you've got to stop with this!” But Michael takes the stairs in one surprisingly light-footed leap, and Gavin’s outraged words become muffled before fading away entirely.

Griffon takes Geoff’s beer out of his hand and takes a long drink before holding up the empty bottle. “Mazel tov!”

Geoff snickers and leans in to kiss her cheek. “So that’s what we’re doing this for, right?” At her inquiring eyebrow, he goes on: “Securing a safer world so Gavin can get into the pants of a living god?”

That warrants a moment of consideration, but after weighing that and the alternatives, she shrugs and asks, “Is there a greater cause?”


	11. it's sacrilege, they say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 11 Oct 2013, updated with new canon. It's very very different and a lot longer. Enjoy!

The only thing that keeps Michael from apologizing for the number he did on BYTE Tower is that it doesn’t look as ugly as it did before. The tower was an eyesore jabbing through the New York skyline. It got bad press when it was proposed. It got worse when construction was completed. No one liked it.

So, Michael doesn’t actually feel bad about it. That and, as Geoff would say, _Fucking Sorola, man._

They’re in the infirmary of the tower, one of the areas that didn’t get trashed when Michael tore through the face of the building like wet tissue paper. He stands against the window; it’s the first time he’s been inside the tower and he’s already not a huge fan of it.

The view to the street below, though is... It’s something. Michael tries not to stare too much, but it’s always been something shielded from him in his realm. No need for the prince to see the destruction in his wake. Now, he stares at the ruined streets, the taxed building supports, the glass and concrete scattered across everything. He sees Captain America walking around in full uniform, spangly and bright in the midst of the gloom and the rain. He makes sweeping gestures, seeming to be leading the emergency crews around.

He’s like the personification of _everything’s all right, return to your homes_. Michael tries not to think about how lucky they all are that Captain America’s on their side. He doesn’t even know if Haywood understands the power he has. If he did, that was a hell of a point in his favor.

“And it didn’t occur to you to contact security about Agent Narvaez’s identity?” Sorola asks.

Gavin, sitting on the metal infirmary table, looks stricken and Michael’s suddenly done with his silent watch. The lights in the room flicker all at once, static clouding the monitors. All the eyes in the room are on him, and he glares back at them all before focusing on Sorola.

“Did it occur to you that you hired the fucker yourself and _assigned him_ to Gavin?” Michael asks with the sort of calm that’s only born from incandescent fury. “Leave him alone, he’s not who dropped the ball here.”

Sorola’s a brave, stubborn man, and he makes a game attempt to stare Michael down. “You’re going to stand there and tell me my job while my people sift through _your_ rubble?”

Michael steps away from the wall and forward until he’s just over Gavin’s shoulder. He’s shorter than Sorola, but with the equipment in the room still buzzing in distress from his very presence, he doesn’t feel small. He grins with a dark intent painted wide over his face and says, “You want to go down that road with me, Sorola? Because I can tell you this: I’m better at it than you are.”

Sorola stares at him, then pulls a face. “I should have stayed in the NSA,” he mutters before turning to Agent Tuggey. “Get Mr. Ramsey-Free cleared and get his statement. I have to go deal with fucking Ramsey.”

Gavin looks up at that. “Geoff? Geoff’s here?”

“He’s in-bound.” Sorola’s answer is curt, and then he’s gone out of the infirmary, fast enough his heavy coat kicks up behind him like a cloak.

Gavin’s hand comes up to his throat, rubbing at reddened skin. “I would say I feel bad for him, having to handle Geoff, but...” His eyes flick up to Michael, tentative in a way Michael’s not seen before.

Michael tries to smile. All the doom and danger’s shucked off him now that Sorola’s gone. He didn’t want to bring it out anyway, not with Gavin shaken up as he is, but listening to Sorola try to pass the blame onto Gavin wasn’t going to fucking happen.

Tuggey pulls up a stool. “Okay, so. Let’s make this fast and maybe we can figure something out for you.” She has a data pad that she looks over before starting up again where Sorola left off: “So, you were with Narvaez in the design lab when we received the communication from Mogar.”

Michael tries not to listen too closely as Gavin slowly retells what happened. He stands nearby, like the worst kind of bodyguard, and watches for threats. He understands why the Ramseys let Gavin come to BYTE, desperate times and all that, but Michael is not the type to forgive, especially not when a shady government outfit kidnaps the people he cares about. Quietly, he’s ready to get Gavin out of there at the first sign of trouble.

There’s no trouble as Tuggey takes his statement. He’s only known her today, but Michael likes her and wonders what the hell she’s doing with BYTE. Probably for the best that there’s one decent person there, though.

“What happened then?” Tuggey asks.

“I... saw them. On the ground, and I thought...” Gavin looks down at his hands in his lap. “It was bloody terrifying but also... amazing. But, I thought I could stop it? I mean, I knew that Ray-- that Narvaroth, he meant to use my apparent death against Michael, so I thought I could stop him.” Gavin’s shook his head. “The agents told me no, but Ryan listened.”

“And then?”

“And then what? I yelled at Michael, called him an idiot, and watched you guys haul Narvaroth away. Now I’m here. Are we done? Can--” His voice breaks a little. “Can we be done?”

Michael presses his lips together and looks at Tuggey.

Tuggey’s tapping her stylus against the pad, thinking intently. That she’s even considering it is another point in her favor.

Then, she leans in and says, “Do you want to go home?”

Michael sees how Gavin jumps like he’s been given a shock and answers for him, quietly. “Can you do that?”

“Am I gonna be reprimanded? Probably. Do I care? Not right now.” She slides the stylus away and stands. “Meet me on the landing pad. I’ll be there shortly,” she says before hurrying away.

Gavin looks up at Michael, and there’s still a hesitation to him, but he looks hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Come on.” He follows like a dutiful, loyal thing as Gavin leads the way to the landing pad. Most of the people they pass are too busy running around to notice them, and the few who do are easily stared down when they dare to approach. It’s an upside to almost taking out a building; everyone gives you a wide berth. Michael abuses it to keep everyone away from Gavin.

Gavin, who keeps glancing back at him with a confused wrinkle to his brow. There is a space between them, one that Michael keeps constant. When Gavin slows, Michael slows to match. It’s much more space than is usually between them. Then again, usually Michael has no qualms about picking Gavin up, moving him around, keeping him close and safe.

And it’s not that he doesn’t want that. More than anything in all the realms, Michael wants to touch him. To have come so close to losing Gavin only to still have him like some unexpected gift from the universe-- Michael wants to gather Gavin up in his arms and lift him away and bury his nose in Gavin’s hair so much, resisting that urge is like a knife in his ribs, sliding in and twisting until he’s in agony.

And that is why he keeps his distance. Not forever, but for the time being, he needs it. It’s stupid self-flagellation with no other purpose than to remind him about the shitstorm he brought down on everyone. He accepts it and pushes through.

The only breaking point is at the helicopter. Gavin’s bent down against the force of the blade spinning as he watches Tuggey climb in the passenger area, pulling on her headset.

Gavin has his arms wrapped tight around himself as his coat tries to flap up around him in the wind. Given how Michael can’t help but look at him like he’s risen from the dead and how he still looks like a cat in a room of rocking chairs, Michael steps in, shielding him from the gusts as much as he can. Gavin smiles wanly and uses Michael’s shoulder to brace himself as he climbs up and inside.

It’s just for a second, but it’s solid and real in a way that releases a knot in Michael’s chest.

He waits until Gavin’s settled, then slides the door shut for him, stepping back to watch the helicopter lift up and tilt away to the south.

As he watches the helicopter become a dot on the horizon, he catches a flash of blue and steel approaching and sighs, knowing that he won’t be leaving for a while yet.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, after Geoff has shouted, then quieted,

after Haywood’s shown up and given Michael a look that’s the first thing to make him really worry about a human since he’s arrived on Earth,

after Sorola started eating antacids like they were his dinner meal,

after Michael’s taken the necklace out of his pocket and silently worked the links back together under the table

after, as Geoff suits up for the flight home, Sorola walks up to Michael and asks in a voice that almost betrays a human emotion other than annoyance, “We’re putting Narvaroth in our holding cell. He’ll be there a while. Do you want to be there for the transfer?”

It’s more than he deserves, that offer. He knows that Sorola’s a shit, but wonders if under his role as BYTE commander and general asshole there’s not something more.

He thinks of Narvaroth, and days spent bringing rain to the royal gardens, how Narvaroth would alight to one of the orchard trees and pick one of the golden apples they weren’t meant to touch, leaving an illusory apple in its place so they could split the one and taste the magic bred into the crisp flesh.

He thinks about that army of darkness that cloaked their approach with a pitch black that no lightning could illuminate, and how Narvaroth floated above Michael’s shoulders and called out directions for him to swing in, and how every blow fell true.

He thinks of brilliant green eyes and a man who courted chaos and was the best fucking mage the realms had ever seen. A man who doesn’t exist anymore.

“No,” Michael answers. “Thanks, but no.”

It’s time to go.

 

* * *

 

Michael’s heart is in his hand and in his throat. It’s fucking weird like that.

He had spent the evening watching Gavin, too closely, too intently. Michael knows that and tries to give the designer space because he deserves it. Michael’s of the opinion that he deserves a hell of a lot, and it doesn’t include Michael’s stupid selfish ache to be with him.

Of course, he follows him down the stairs anyway because, fucking shocker, the disgraced exiled prince is a greedy asshole, who would have thought.

Gavin’s head is pillowed on Griffon’s lap, his hair messy and curling slightly. Michael’s only seen that a few times before, when they’ve gone for swims together and Gavin laughed in the sunlight as his damp hair dried messy and fluffy.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

“Hey, can I...” He licks his dry lips. “Gav, can we talk a sec?”

Griffon trips him on the stairs. Fair enough.

Being alone with Gavin is another experiment in restraint. Especially when Michael tries to explain and Gavin doesn’t seem to get it. Or he doesn’t care. And the thought that Gavin would trust him again like he hadn’t fucked it all up terrifies him.

“Stop, Gavin, I thought you were--” Gone. Dead and killed to be used as a fucking tool against Michael, dead because Michael wasn’t fast enough after he’d fucking promised. “And I fucking lost it.”

Gavin touches him, light, his hand against Michael’s. It’s another reminder that he’s there, Michael could just grab him and pull him in tight and never let him go and keep him safe. Michael jerks away, breathing hard, tries to explain again: “I don’t want to be that guy anymore. And for a second I was.”

Any person with a brain would hear that and remember the fucking wreck Michael had left BYTE Tower in and run in fear. They would not twirl careful fingers in the chain of the Bifrost necklace and step in close enough for Michael to catch the ridiculous citrusy minty smell of their shampoo. Michael sways into him like he’s drunk, forgetting for a moment that he’s Mogar and he could’ve hurt so many people today. All he fucking cares about is Gavin being his usual self, barreling through people’s protests and taking everything said to him as a challenge to best.

You just can’t beat that. No amount of logic could penetrate Gavin’s skull after a certain point.

“Do better next time,” Gavin tells him, like it’s just that fucking simple. And Michael wants it to be so goddamn bad that he nods.

“Next time,” he says and swallows against the tightness in his chest. He untangles the necklace from Gavin’s fingers and slides it on around his neck. “Yeah, okay, next time.” Michael can’t keep from touching him then. He can feel the Bifrost, the north to his compass, the gravity of his world, hanging against Gavin’s skin. He doesn’t have anything move to give than that, the only thing left of his home. He’d die before letting it come to harm, letting Gavin come to harm. “I’ll do it better next time.”

He’s so close, he can’t just step away again. His maps the skin of Gavin’s neck with the pads of his fingers, feels the steady beat of his heart, and shakes as he takes his jaw in his hands. He’s as gentle as he can manage and it doesn’t feel like enough still. “Gavin,” he breathes, wanting to apologize.

Gavin leans in, his own hands wrapping around Michael’s wrists, holding him there. “I’m here,” he says. “I’m right here.”

Michael chokes; he feels it like a sword being driven through his chest and into Mogar’s heart. The core of him, that angry howling thing that deep down always longs to drive lightning into everything he can, just to see how it lights up, goes quiet for the first time in his life. Kissing Gavin, just an overly cautious brush of lips, settles him deep in his own body. He feels it all so vividly and a moan catches in his throat as he presses in, his hands cradling Gavin’s face.

Gavin draws away and looks down at himself. Through his shirt, the pendant’s lighting up like a beacon. “Um.”

“Sorry,” Michael mutters. “I’m a little... intent right now. On you.”

“Is that what that means?” Gavin smiles warmly. “Well, I don’t mind that.”

“Gavin--”

“Oh, shut up. Just shut up, Michael.” Gavin’s a pushy shit, always has been, though Michael doesn’t mind much, not like this. “Just...” He leans in, kisses with easy openness, and laughs into Michael’s mouth when he leans back and Michael follows.

“Oh, is that funny?” Michael asks even as he picks Gavin up, a hand under each of his legs, and braces him against the sealed door to the lab. “You want to squirm away now?”

Gavin looks at him, incredulous. “Do you just mean to remind me over and over that you can lift me? ‘Cause I get that.”

“Are you complaining?” He takes his time running his hand up and down Gavin’s leg, soaking in the heat of him through his pants. He’s warm, everything about him just feels warm and Michael wants to push into him and curl up there.

Gavin’s grin is electric. “Oh, no. No, not really.” He leans in, pecks Michael on the lips, and draws away to say something else.

Then stops and cups Michael’s cheek, dragging his thumb over his lower lip. “Is there any reason we’re not making out right now?”

“Geoff? Griffon?”

“Oh, like they give a toss,” he says with an eyeroll before arching forward. Michael meets him halfway and swallows the pleased little hum Gavin lets out. They press in close, Gavin’s hands tight on Michael’s shoulders as Michael crushes him against the door. It’s a winding series of kisses, slow and desperate. Michael licks against Gavin’s lips, drinking in the happy sound he gets as their mouths fit together.

Gavin’s fingers dig into Michael’s shoulders, tensing all on their own before he breaks from the kiss. “Ow.”

“Ow? Why?”

Gavin helps himself to the buttons of Michael’s jacket, opening it at the neck to look in. “Oh. You’re wearing the armor. That needs to come off.”

Michael shuts his eyes and presses his forehead to Gavin’s. “Yeah?”

“Yeah...” Gavin smiles and leans in for one more kiss. It’s probably meant to be fast, but Gavin’s hand drags into Michael hair, pulling him in for more. He feels his hat slide off but doesn’t care, pushing Gavin’s head back against the wall as he thrusts his tongue. Gavin groans, his whole body rocking up into Michael. “I’ve got... Ha, I’ve got a floor it’d look good on.”

Michael tucks his face into Gavin’s collar, laughing at how fucking terrible that line is and how much it still works for him. “Okay, I’m game.”

“Thought you might be. Though...” Gavin looks behind him, at the sealed design lab. “If Griffon hadn’t locked me out of my sodding lab, we could just go through there, but...” His legs kick, like a child tired of being carried around. “Down.”

Michael snorts but lets him stand on his own feet again. “We’re gonna have to be quiet.”

“Only ‘til we get to my room. Sound proofing, one of the first improvements the house got.” His nose wrinkles. “I’m so glad I don’t have to listen to Geoff and Griffon anymore. Christ.”

Michael could honestly imagine very vividly how irritating that’d be. The Ramseys were the type.

Gavin pulls Michael along, upstairs, and they try to be subtle about it, but Griffon’s leaning over the sofa and suddenly giving Michael one of the best threats he’s ever heard. If any human could forge a weapon to kill a god, it’s Griffon Ramsey.

But she also gives her blessing, and Michael feels a giddy joy in his chest. He wasn’t expecting it, really, not after the danger he’d put Gavin in just by existing around him. he doesn’t think he's earned it, really, but... for now, for this particular moment, Michael doesn’t care.

He picks Gavin up again, because it’s easy and fun to hear the outraged noises he makes. And the stairs are faster when you can just skip them with a single bound. As soon as they’re out of Geoff and Griffon’s sight, Gavin calms. With his elbows braced on Michael’s shoulders, he looks down at him with a quietly awed expression. “Am I going to have to get used to this? Is this what it’s gonna be like with you?”

The implication there, that Gavin’s already thinking of a future, a future with him, makes Michael shudder. “Yeah,” he manages hoarsely. “Yeah, probably.”

“Top,” Gavin decrees, grinning, and nuzzles his nose against Michael’s curls. The freely given affection is-- it’s amazing. Michael’s wanted Gavin for a fucking embarrassingly long time, and he never imagined this. It makes something uncoil deep in his gut, hot and greedy.

He gets them into the room, Gavin catching the door with one hand and swinging it shut behind them. For a moment, Michael just keeps holding him, looking up at his face with unbearable fondness as he gets used to the feeling of him here, whole and safe.

Gavin, because he’s an impatient prick, makes a face at him, kicks his legs again. When Michael ignores him, he sighs and plucks Michael’s glasses off his nose, turning them around to look through them. “D’you need these? It’d be a bit odd for a god prince person to have screwy eyes. Do you want to get Lasik or whatever?”

“Gavin,” Michael says.

Gavin smirks and tosses the glasses onto his desk with the carelessness of a man that doesn’t take care of things. “Please me or I’ll please myself.”

Michael loosens his hold on Gavin’s hips, lets him slide down until his feet touch ground again. Gavin smiles and wraps his arms fully around Michael neck, kissing him full and deep, leaning his whole body against Michael’s.

It’s nice and sweet until Michael palms Gavin’s ribs, under his shirt. Gavin makes this tiny approving sound and lifts his arms. Michael pulls the shirt up and off without being told, and once it’s clear Gavin’s hands unfasten Michael’s jacket. It’s a custom Ramsey design and Gavin has all the zips and snaps undone in a half second. He shoves it off, impatience sparking, and makes equally quick work of the armor underneath. It falls off with a loud, metallic shiver onto the floor before Gavin hooks his fingers into Michael’s jeans and tugs him forward.

Michael goes, meeting Gavin’s bruising kiss. He bites at his lips, drawn in by his mouth and all his open skin. Gavin stumbles back into the bed, and Michael lets him fall.

“Come on.” Gavin sits up, grabbing for Michael. “Don’t just-- come on.”

“Fuck, hold on one second,” Michael says, voice getting tight. Against his will, nervousness starts to unfurl in him. This is something he wants more than breathing and Gavin grasps at him, whines when Michael just catches his wrists and kisses his fingers.

He’s done this before with humans. The first few times admittedly didn’t go very well and would have gone even worse if both parties had been sober… But he got better and even managed a few times with some _incredibly_ understanding people. There was too much to explain though, so Michael… just didn’t most of the time.

With Gavin, though… Fuck, he wants to push him down and cover him like a wall between Gavin and the world, wants to see his face and wants to work himself out and over Gavin. Just thinking of it, vague ideas of physicality, makes the coiling in his gut wind tighter. The mix of arousal and worry starts to fuck with him though and that’s what spurs him on; he nudges Gavin back and pulls his soft flannel pants off and up so he lands on his back, legs in the air. Gavin grins, excited and happy, helping get his boxers off too. They’re thrown into the growing pile of clothing before Michael is sidetracked.

Gavin’s skin is the same color all over, but there’s an extra paleness here that shows just how long its been since Gavin’s been out in the sun. He misses all the golden skin but watching the red flush that radiates from his chest and up along his neck, splashing over his cheeks, that’s good too.

Gavin shifts under Michael’s gaze. “If you’re done?”

“I’m not,” Michael says through a dry mouth before dropping down to his knees. Gavin makes a shocked sound like he’s been punched. “Relax.”

“You relax,” Gavin shoots back, an octave higher than usual.

He smiles, biting down the instinctive reply of how that is _not_ going to happen, and nudges Gavin’s legs open. They tense for a brief instant before letting him in. “Michael,” Gavin exhales softly as Michael gets to look at him. He’s warm and furry with a lot of hair for Michael to nuzzle against, taken in by the texture and how coarse human hair is down here. His explorations have Gavin breathing harder. He kisses the slight curve of his stomach, nipping at the soft flesh. “ _Mi_ chael, fuck.”

A hand buries in Michael’s hair, tangling in his curls, and he smiles, pulling against the grip. “Hold that thought for now, okay?” His chin bumps Gavin’s dick, half-hard already. Gavin’s fingers tug at his hair, flexing amid his curls, and Michael smiles as he tips his head down, mouthing at the top of Gavin’s cock.

“Oh-- oh, god.”

“You can call me Michael,” he assures him, circling his tongue around the soft cockhead.

Gavin tosses his head back, groaning and laughing together in an odd strangled sound. “Oh, shut the fuck up,” he tells him with no heat. “Ah--” His fingers clench enough to hurt as Michael works his mouth over him, muscles in his abdomen tensing as he tries not to move. “Oh god.”

His arms circle Gavin’s hips as he pulls himself all the way down, swallowing Gavin. Gavin lets out a noise that makes Michael supremely glad for the sound proofing in the house, beating a fist against Michael’s shoulder. “Michael, Michael, I-- I can’t...”

Michael holds him like that for a second longer as he feels Gavin’s legs wrap around him. His hips shift in short little thrusts even as he babbles and protests, so close to coming that coherence is long gone. It’s good, it’s so fucking good, and it’s also a little mean of him. Getting his mouth on Gavin and stripping him of every clear thought in his head is not just really satisfying, it’s a _move_ and it’s part one of this plan that Michael is figuring out as he goes along.

It almost feels guilty, but this is easier and more fun than telling Gavin he might want a few drinks in him before he lets Michael into his bed.

The pulling against his hair becomes insistent and Gavin pants and tells him, “Don’t you dare, don’t you dare, _fuck_.”

Obligingly, Michael pulls off of Gavin, lets his now-fully hard cock slide out of his mouth. “Problem?” His voice is hoarse and he has to wipe his mouth of the wetness there.

“You’ve not even taken your trou off,” Gavin whines, though his eyes linger on Michael’s mouth, looking tempted.

Michael lifts his eyebrows. “I was kind of in the middle of something.” He tries to lean back in only for Gavin’s knee to get in his way, stopping him.

“Come on, Michael,” Gavin says, scooting back on the bed. His grabs Michael’s biceps and tries to draw him up. “I feel I’m leaving you behind.”

“That’s--” he starts before biting his tongue. Saying _that’s fine_ would make things not-fine, he knows. He has to bite the bullet.

Gavin’s not quite with it, but he gives Michael a concerned look. “What?” His hand tucks under Michael’s chin, thumb swiping over the curve of his lip, and Michael shudders, feeling a sudden wave of vulnerability threaten to drown him. “Michael?” His name is a light, lilting thing with that soft questioning tone Gavin uses and it’s all Michael to do to only turn his head and kiss Gavin’s palm.

“Okay.” He stands slowly and Gavin’s hands are on him, pressing against his stomach with a soft touch before dragging down and working at his pants. “Uh, you should know…”

Gavin smirks. “I can see you tenting there, love, let me help out.” His voice is sly and confident in a way that works _hard_ for Michael and silences him as his pants are pulled down.

Predictably, Gavin pauses, staring for a moment once he frees Michael from the confines of his jeans.

Point for Gavin Ramsey-Free: he doesn’t scream.

His hands drop and move to brace behind him on the bed so he can lean back and look. “Huh.”

Michael winces at the flat tone. “I wanted to warn you but, uh…” Gavin’s eyes are fixed at him, so he looks down too at himself.

One of the weirdest things Michael learned upon coming to Earth was about a year after he first arrived. He’d gone out to to have some drinks and found himself pulled into a conversation with a woman who was at the bar too. She was watching the football game on the TV and yelling about it a lot, but stopped when he explained he had no idea what was going on.

She was nice, thought it was hilarious he had no idea how football worked, and spent the rest of the game teaching him the rules. Then, she stayed and bought him another beer. She pretended to be interested in his electrician work as he pretended not to be overly interested on the degree in anthropology she was working on.

“Speaking of anthropology,” she had said suddenly, “you are a fine specimen of man. Want to come back to my place, let me study you?”

He’d been so charmed and so fucking surprised, he laughed and agreed. It felt like time to start moving on, to try out this humanity thing for real, and saying yes felt like a good step.

It had been great, too, something easy and fun. He’d let her push him around and get on top of him. She worked his pants off and it had gone wrong.

Michael doesn’t have the scar left from the lamp she threw at him. He sort of wishes he did; it felt important.

Gavin doesn’t throw anything. He doesn’t yell, which is good because the idea of something so _basic_ about Michael upsetting Gavin makes Michael want to throw up. No, he just looks, gaze calm but focused. Michael is used to that look on his face when he is in the lab, not in the bedroom. Not that Michael has seen much of Gavin’s face in bedrooms. He’s definitely pictured it though.

“Are you freaking out?” Michael asks, voice strained.

Gavin shakes his head. “No. That is… not what I was expecting.”

Michael knows by now what Gavin was expecting. After the lamp thrown at his head, Michael had swallowed his pride and gone to Barnes and Noble to pick up a book on human anatomy. It had answered a lot of questions.

Michael doesn’t have anything as complicated as a human penis or vagina. He’s simpler; pushing out from his boxers is his main appendage, a lavender tentacle curling over the band of elastic. He can see and feel how slick he already is, and he’s almost mortified by how it reaches out. He’s half a second away from pulling up his pants, flying to another continent, and crying into whatever the local alcoholic drink of choice is when Gavin leans in instead, his arms on his knees and eyebrows furrowed.

“Michael, you have a thing poking out of you,” Gavin remarks in an oddly light tone.

“You do too, asshole,” Michael shoots back without missing a beat.

“Mine is not purple.”

“I’m intimately fucking aware,” he replies dryly, which gets Gavin to meet his eyes and makes him blush.

“Fair enough.” Gavin bites his lower lip and reaches out. Michael forces himself to hold very still as his pants are pulled down further. His main tentacle helps, bending and pushing itself free, curling in the air. It’s cool in the room and Michael suppresses a shiver. “This is normal for you then?”

Michael nods. “Yeah. Is that okay?”

“So far,” Gavin says before extending his fingers to Michael. Being the semi-autonomous grabby shit that is it, it loops around Gavin’s fingers, trying to twine between them. Gavin huffs a shocked breath. “Oh, it’s friendly.”

Michael grits his teeth. Gavin’s skin is hot and dry against him and it’s-- he’s a fan, really. “Well, I usually am, aren’t I?”

Gavin snorts but doesn’t say anything, pulling his fingers away. They’re slicked from the touch and slide away easily. Gavin rubs them together, watching the translucent purple slick as it spreads. “Huh.”

“Holy _shit_ , can you… say more than that? Please?” Michael crosses his arms over his chest, and Gavin laughs at him.

“Michael. _Michael_.” He smiles up at him. “I am not freaking out. Just… trying to figure what I’m looking at.”

“It’s not hard--”

“No kidding,” Gavin chirps. "It's all bendy, has give to it. Guess they don't call it _getting hard_ where you come from?"

Michael rolls his eyes and in a fit of impatience, pushes his pants and boxers down to his knees before kicking them off. He gets naked before settling down again, now pretty much on display for Gavin.

“You have _more than one_!” He sounds excited and awed as he sees the full of what Michael is packing. The main tentacle curls back against his stomach against the chill of the room. With his clothes gone, the smaller, thinner tendrils are visible. They wave around, twist around the tentacle, slicking Michael up, the sound a lot more wet and obscene than Michael remembers.

“Yeah, well. Yeah.” He’s not sure what to say as Gavin looks him over with the critical eyes of a designer. It’s fucking intimidating. “It’s like a human dick but… simpler.”

Gavin jabs a finger at him. “ _That_ is simpler to you?”

“Yeah!” Michael can’t keep the defensive note out of his voice. “Dicks have all these different parts. Me, I’m just…” He runs one finger over the ridge of the his tentacle. “Main wiggly.” Then he pokes one of the tendrils, pulling away when the rest try to grab hold. “Auxillary ones. Nothing fancy.”

“Oh my god,” Gavin says, high pitched and tapering into a giggle. He holds out his hand again and this time the tendrils catch his fingers and try to tug him in. “ _Very_ friendly!” He lets them rub against his hand for a moment before tugging free. They resist him a bit, but his hand slides from their grip. "Oh, wow."

Moving to brush his hair out of his eyes, Gavin stops, remembering his hand is coated in Michael's slick. "All right, let's do this smart." He smiles up at Michael and waves his fingers at him. "I've played enough Mass Effect to know there's some important questions here."

"Can I put on a robe or something?" He has no idea how this got so completely derailed. It was going great when he was blowing Gavin; he's still half-hard though, which is sort of reassuring.

"Absolutely not. Are you cold? Come here, love, come here." Gavin draws him down onto the bed and pushes at Michael's shoulders before he agrees to lie down on his back. Gavin crawls in to sit between his legs and takes a moment just to rub his hands over Michael's skin, the planes of his stomach, his pecs, over his legs. His touch is warm and rich, and more than anything Michael wants to curl up against him and feel that all over him. Gavin has other ideas in mind. "You've got peach fuzz all over, I never realized."

"Is that bad?"

"No... Hang on." His hand curls around Michael's tentacle, petting it with his palm in a hard stroke that makes Michael curse and shudder. "More of it here. That's interesting. Anti-chafing measure?"

"Fucking hell, Gavin, I was a warrior, not one of the high court mages." Michael tries to sound peevish about it but Gavin is still _stroking_ him with his warm dry hand and it feels _good_.

Gavin tilts his head to the side, going all inquisitive bird with bright keen eyes. "Are science and magic the same for you?"

"Yeah, of course."

He beams, pleased. "Am I a wizard then?"

Michael laughs, then groans. Gavin's squeezing him, and it's making him come alive, the tendrils looping around Gavin's wrist to keep him there as his main helpfully drips with more slick. "S-something like that. Gavin, you're killing me."

"I'm analysing, shut up." His fingers rub on the bumps and trace over the ridge of his tentacle before feeling around the base. Michael tries not to tense up, but Gavin traces the sheath and he can't help it. "Oh, okay, that's bad. Sorry. Won't touch there again."

"Thanks," Michael manages, slumping back again.

"So _is_ this like Mass Effect? Are we... biologically incompatible because of amino acids or whatever? Are you dextro?"

Michael snorts. "I knew you fucking romanced the aliens." Gavin slaps his thigh, and a laugh startles out of him. "Was it Garrus or Tali?" Gavin frowns and drags a finger over his sheath where he's too sensitive. "Fuck, okay, okay! You're such a bossy shit... No, we're fine. You're not allergic or anything."

"Good, so I can..." He works his hand out of the grip of Michael's tendrils, having to use his other hand to uncoil a few of the more greedy ones. "Bloody hell, they like me." Which Michael thinks goes without saying; his bulge is an involuntary muscle, but it's part of him. Odds are it’s going to be fucking enamored with this calamity of a man.

Gavin puts his finger in his mouth and licks away the slick that's collected there. He freezes, face reddening, and lets out a nervous giggle. "Oh."

"What?" He can't help but stare as Gavin gives little kitten licks to the back of his hand and progressively looks more and more surprised.

His words are pitched high again. "It, it's sweet. I wasn't expecting that. It's not like sugar, but um... Ha, speaking of peach fuzz..."

"I do _not_ taste like fucking fruit, asshole," Michael grouses, kneeing Gavin in the side.

Gavin laughs, open and pleased and braces himself on Michael's leg before licking his hand again, apparently trying not to be too obvious about it. "No, but, that sort of thing, yeah? It's a full flavor, not a sharp, chemical one?" With effort, he pulls his hand away from his mouth. "It's, ah."

Michael can't help smiling. There is still a nervous flutter in him and he feels much like he's being examined, but the anxiety's left him. He's pretty sure he's not going to get a lamp thrown at him and if he makes Gavin scream, it's not going to be from fear or disgust. He could do with being poked at a little less because it's really affecting him, but it's almost nice that someone... wants to know and understand. Michael's got a long history of being feared for various reasons. A break in pattern is really just... nice, yeah.

"What are you smiling at?" Gavin asks.

"You." Grinning, Michael sits up and pulls Gavin in with a hand on his neck, kissing him. Gavin falls into it without hesitation, licking the seal of Michael's lips until they part and it deepens. His hands, one dry and one slick, grip Michael's shoulders so he can get in closer. There's a pleased hum from him and he turns his head and just pushes for more, mouths open and wet.

Gavin snickers into his mouth and quiets before doing it again a minute later. "Jesus, Michael..." He looks down between them and watches as the tentacle rubs happily against the fluff of hair on his belly. The friction is amazing, and there's a purple sheen left over Gavin's skin. "Having fun?"

The thinner tendrils grope wide at Gavin's skin, some pulling at the curly hair, some poking his belly button, some just rubbing against him. "Ah, well... I can--"

"It's fine." He kisses Michael again, slower and longer before, "What do you like?"

"I like..."

"Do you want my mouth on you?"

Michael squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his face into Gavin's neck. The metal chain of his necklace is there and presses against his cheek. Laughing, Gavin cups the back of Michael's head, playing with his hair. "Oh, I think I can do that."

"You don't have to, Gav, it's fine."

"Oh, shut up, believe it or not you're not going to break me." He nudges Michael away from him, then urges him back down on the bed.

"I'm just saying--"

"Cut the fucking self-sacrificial bullshit, it's not sexy," Gavin says burying his hand back in the winding cluster of lavender slickness. "Hello there, someone's excited."

"Ignore them."

"Shut it." He strokes his hand over them all, letting them rub against his palm and clutch his fingers. Michael's trying to keep cool, but his tentacle is excited at the thought of Gavin's warm, wet mouth and his lips... And the way Gavin scoots down the bed to lay on his stomach, up close and personal with Michael bulge, it's not easy.

"Should I just..."

"Anything," Michael breathes. "If you want to, I mean."

"Oh, _enough_ with the-- if you say that shit again, I _will_ stop." He braces himself on his elbow and one arm across Michael, fingertips tucking into the sharp dip of his pelvic bone. His breath is hot over Michael's sensitive skin, and he doesn't have to think about it before his tentacle is reaching for him. Gavin smiles and lets it brush his lips, making a kissing sound as it does. "Hello there."

It pushes, tracing his lips, and Gavin swipes his tongue after it, humming at the flavor. He bends further, lips catching it, and the tentacle isn't shy about squirming in. Gavin allows it, eyes going half-lidded. His tongue curls around the tip and Michael throws his arm over his eyes, groaning, mortified at how he can feel himself dripping more slick right into Gavin's mouth. "Oh my god..."

Gavin’s hand cups him, squeezing the thick base of his tentacle as he plays with it, letting it slide over the curl of his tongue and rub there. His fingers tighten and loosen in turns and Michael feels himself pouring into the blood hot wonder that's Gavin's fucking mouth. "Fffuck, fuck, fuck."

Gavin's mouth fills up and he swallows before pulling off. "All right there?"

"You're out of your damn mind, you're just--" Michael _knows_ he's not dangerous, that he'd rather cut off his damn wiggly than hurt Gavin, but Gavin doesn't know that or at least he shouldn't, and yet he's just diving the fuck in and it's going to kill Michael and he doesn't mind at all.

"You've gone far too long without a blowjob, love," Gavin decides, then shifts closer. His tongue drags heavy and hard against Michael before he gets to the base and tries to fit as much of it between his lips as he can, sucking softly. Michael's back arches as he gasps, and Gavin is probably right, come to think of it.

"Gavin, Gav, oh shit." He pets Gavin's hair, needing to have something under his hands as Gavin just sucks and licks at him. He's getting even more excited down there; the tendrils curl around Gavin's ears, holding tight to his head as others hug his fingers. The tentacle rubs itself up and down Gavin's cheek, leaving a translucent purple streak over the apple of his cheek.

Gavin's eyes are shut, eyelashes oddly soft and beautiful as he focuses. There is a sharp pang in Michael's chest and he can't believe that Gavin's still here with him, is taking Michael as he is without complaint and with so much enthusiasm and good humor-- nothing feels real about it except the sensation of Gavin's mouth, which couldn't be just in Michael's head; Michael has never imagined anything that fucking good.

Gavin makes a noise and pulls up as much as the tendrils cupping and holding his face will allow. He looks down and sees the pearlescent glow of the Bifrost against his chest. His smile then is so warm and happy that Michael has to look away; it's too much.

He leans down, kissing the main tentacle again, eyes bright, and opens his mouth obligingly when it pushes. Gavin's eyes flutter shut and he moans, muffled as the tentacle helps itself, pushing in further and further until Gavin's lips are stretched wide around it and his fingers tighten through the tendrils. Michael feels his tentacle wrap around Gavin's tongue, filling his mouth and almost gushing. Gavin breathes hard through his nose and his tongue flexes, trying to move. He keeps trying to get more when there is _no damn room_ and the excess slick drips down his chin.

Michael ruts up into it, eyes going unfocused, and Gavin takes it without complaint, but, fucking hell, he can't just...

It takes all of Michael's willpower to do it, but he grabs Gavin and pulls him up and off with easy strength the human can't fight against. Gavin coughs wetly once his mouth is freed and his entire face is _wrecked_ , shiny with bruised lips and a dazed expression. "What, what's-- why'd you stop?"

"You are fucking ridiculous, come here," Michael says, pulling Gavin to him so he lays over Michael's body. Gavin squawks a bit, indignant, but soon his hard cock lines up with Michael's tendrils and he lets out a groan and all his resistance just melts.

Michael rubs his slack face, wiping away the excess mess, ignoring how Gavin kisses his fingers as he does. Between them, Michael’s tentacle loops around Gavin’s dick and squeezes, making both their hips stutter and rock together. The tendrils introduce themselves to Gavin's balls and the delicate skin behind, and Gavin tosses his head, desperate noises dragged out of him in a rough, hoarse voice.

"Michael, Michael," Gavin pants like it's the only word he remembers. Legs spreading wide, he grips Michael's shoulder with one hand and the headboard with the other, using the leverage to work their hips together in a wet, filthy slide.

Michael's voice gets stuck in his own throat and he just kisses Gavin's collarbone, catches the chain hanging there between his lips, and holds him tight. He feels taken apart by skilled hands, and the prospect should terrify him but for the fact that it's Gavin, and Gavin could put him back together better than new and Michael would thank him for the honor.

In the end, he worries something's gone wrong because Gavin gets quiet, but he comes suddenly spreading his own slickness over Michael. The faint keening sound he makes is still hoarse from his mouth being fucked and the memory of it with the heat of their bodies together does so much for Michael...

He wraps Gavin in his arms and rocks up against him with such force it lifts Gavin each time, making his exhale little _ohs_ before Michael wraps tighter around him in one last squeeze and comes. It rolls out of him, long and intense like a wave, and he goes with it, rising up against Gavin and kissing him messily.

Gavin continues to slide against him, slow and drowsy like he forgot how to stop. "Mm." Their kisses wind together and gentle until they're close-mouthed and then further until Michael is just pressing his lips to Gavin's jaw and feeling the heat of his body.

After a minute or an hour or any span of time between, Gavin slumps off to the side, curling up against Michael. "Bloody hell."

"Yeah," Michael agrees.

Lifting his head, Gavin grins at Michael. "Look at you, practically glowing. I told you, you were overdue for a blowjob." Michael snorts and Gavin affects a hurt face. "I'm serious. This is the word of your doctor."

"You," Michael says, poking Gavin in the ribs, "are not that kind of doctor. And you hate being called that anyway."

"I could learn to like it with you. Oooh, I'm Dr. Ramsey-Free, hop up on my examination table. My, aren't you a lovely creature, let me have a look at you."

"You are the worst," Michael tells him earnestly. "You only like me for my biology."

"Don't be like that, you're fascinating, I'm a designer, I can't help it." He props himself up and almost coos, "Oh!" as he looks.

Michael chuckles and lies back down. "See?"

His tendrils rubs together almost sleepily, wiping away the majority of the slick before his bulges tuck up back inside, curling tight around each other to fit. All that is left behind is the sticky mess. Gavin observes keenly. "That's handy. They're all protected."

"Mmhm," Michael agrees, shutting his eyes.

It feels like ages later when Michael feels Gavin’s hand card through his hair. He drags it back from his face, a futile effort with how mussed Michael’s hair has gotten. It springs back into place each time, and Gavin just brushes it back again.

"What?" He's not whining, really.

“Oh, are you conscious?” Gavin uses his hold on Michael to pull his head up, looking down at him with a grin. “Hello there.”

His grip loosens and Michael’s head flumps back down on the pillow. “Nngh,” he says.

Gavin laughs. “Conscious, not awake though.”

“What’re you...” He is happy and warm and sated in a way he's not been in years. Gavin is safe and close by and for once, Michael isn't worried. It's a rare thing and he'd like to enjoy it. "Didn't I wow you with my wigglys and fuck your brains out? Why are you awake?"

“You did. It was very nice.” He pats Michael’s cheek. “But I need a shower. You too. We're both fairly disgusting.”

"Don't wanna."

"You are not sleeping in my bed covered in alien jizz."

Michael huffs. "It's yours too, babe, don't blame me." He turns his head into the pillow. "Just... gimme a few minutes."

He doesn't see Gavin's face then, but he can hear an almost unbearable fondness as Gavin sighs and lays back down, tucking into the spot under Michael's arm and throwing his own arm around Michael's chest. It's sweaty and almost too hot, but so reassuring to feel him right there.

"You're going to sleep now, aren't you?" Gavin accuses in a whisper.

"If you'd be quiet and let me, yeah."

“Fine. Tosser. Give you a blowjob and it's naptime.” Gavin’s fingers trail over his clavicle. “Hey, you’re going to be here, right? You’re not going to... In the morning?”

Oh. Michael, with great effort, turns his head to look at Gavin. There he finds the tight look of someone trying very hard not to seem worried and failing. It gives Michael a pang in his chest.

“Gav.” He dips down, kisses Gavin softly, just nudging their mouths together. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Stay for breakfast,” Gavin tells him.

“I think it’ll technically be brunch but...” He nods. “Yeah.”

Reassured, Gavin’s face loses that drawn, worried expression. Closing his eyes, he finally settles down against Michael, safe and sound.

Michael watches him for a moment, and presses his palm to Gavin’s back. Under it is a steady heartbeat and laying against his chest, loose around Gavin's neck, is the faintly glowing Bifrost chunk. Here lies every kind of home Michael has left.

He relaxes back into the bed and sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout to Logan and Ben for sharing their amazing wigglywoo concept and double special thanks to Ben for [drawing this phenomenal art based off the sex scene](http://stretchmarxist.tumblr.com/post/63711177472/lucy-is-a-cruel-temptress) (nsfw, tentacles, may make you go blind from its beauty).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [i am the hammer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/974673) by [shutyourdamnmouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutyourdamnmouth/pseuds/shutyourdamnmouth)
  * [Light the fire in me that I put out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151617) by [chailattemusings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chailattemusings/pseuds/chailattemusings)




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